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Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

“ There sat Uncle Tom and Eva.” —Page ig2 

— Frontispiece 




IKntle Com'si Calim 


OR 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY 




HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 




Embellished with Scenes and Illustrations S 


R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 

9 AND II East Sixteenth Street, New York 


I 

i 

\ 




UBff*frr of CONGRESS 
Two OoBlw Reoetved 

JUL 30 1904 

Q Oooyrffht Entry 

class! X XXO. Na 

^ 2. e fc 7 

^ COPY B / 


Copyright, 1904 
By R. F. Fenno & Company 



-Unde Tom' s Cabin 


rJONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAOE 

In which the Reader is Introduced to a Man of Humanity. . . 7 


CHAPTER II. 

The Mother 17 

CHAPTER IIL 

The Husbana ana i? atner 21 

CHAPTER IV. 

An Evening in Uncle Tom’s Cabin 2C 

CHAPTER V. 


Showing the Feelings of Living Property on Changing Owners. 88 


CHAPTER VI. 

Discovery..... 47 

CHAPTER Vn. 

The Mother’s Struggle 67 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Eliza’s Escape 70 

CHAPTER IX. 

In which it Appears that a Senator is but a Man 86 

CHAPTER X. 

The Property is Carried otf 108 


• V , ~V_ ) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

PAOB 

In which Property gets into an Improper State of Mind 114 

CHAPTER XII. 

Select Incident of Lawful Trade 128 

CHAPTER Xm. 

The Quaker Settlement 145 

CHAPTER XIV. ^ 

Evangeline 155 

CHAPTER XV. 

Of Tom’s new Master, and Various other Matters 165 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Tom’s Mistress and her Opinions 182 

CHAPTER XVH. 

The Freeman’s Defence 201 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions 218 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions, Continued 235 

CHAPTER XX. 

Topsy... 255 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Kentuck 271 

CHAPTER XXII. 

“ The Grass Withereth — the Flower Fadeth.” 276 

CHAPTER XXIH. 

Henrique 284 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Foreshadowings 291 


CONTENTS. 


3 


CHAPTER XXV. 

PAoa 

The Little Evangelist 298 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Death 303 

CHAPTER XXVH. 

“ This is the Last of Earth ” 317 

CHAPTER XXVHI. 

Re-nnion 324 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

The Unprotected 840 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Slave Warehouse 847 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The Middle Passage 358 

CHAPTER XXXH. 

Dark Places 864 

CHAPTER XXXHI. 

Cassy 873 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The Quadroon’s Story * 881 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Tokens 892 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Emmeline and Cassy 399 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

K 

Liberty 406 

CHAPTER XXXVHI. 

The Victory 413 


4 


CONTENTS. 


The Stratagem 

CHAPTER XXXIX 

PAOS 

The Martyr 

CHAPTER XL 

433 

The Young Master. . , 

CHAPTER XLI. 

440 


CHAPTER XLII. 

An Authentic Ghost Story 447 


Results 

CHAPTER XLIII. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

The Liberator 



CHAPTER XLV. 

Concluding Remarks. 



UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; 

OR, 

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


CHAPTER 1. 

IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO A MAN OF 
HUMANITY. 

Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two 
gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well- 

furnished dining-parlor, in the town of P , in Kentucky. 

There were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with 
chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some 
subject with great earnestness. 

For convenience^ sake, we have said, hitherto, two 
gentlemen. One of the parties, however, when critically 
examined, did not seem, strictly speaking, to come under 
the species. He was a short, thick-set man, with coarse, 
commonplace features, and that swaggering air of pre- 
tension which marks a low man who is trying to elbow his 
way upward in the world. He was much over-dressed, in 
a gaudy vest of many colors, a blue neckerchief, bedropped 
gayly with yellow spots, and arranged with a flaunting tie, 
quite in keeping with the general air of the man. His 
hands, large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with 
rings ; and he wore a heavy gold watch-chain, with a bundle 
of seals of portentous size, and a great variety of colors, 
attached to it, — which, in the ardor of conversation, he 
was in the habit of flourishing and jingling with evident 
satisfaction. His conversation was in free and easy defl- 
ance of Murray^s Grammar, and was garnished at conven- 
ient intervals with various profane expressions, which not 
even the desire to he graphic in our account shall induce 
us to transcribe. 


7 


8 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a 
gentleman ; and the arrangements of the house, and the 
general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy, and even 
opulent circumstances. As we before stated, the two were 
in the midst of an earnest conversation. 

That is the way I should arrange the matter," said 
Mr. Shelby. 

I canT make trade that way — I positively can^t, Mr. 
Shelby," said the other, holding up a glass of wine between 
his eye and the light. 

Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow ; 
he is certainly worth that sum anywhere, — steady, honest, 
capable, manages my whole farm like a clock." 

Yon mean honest, as niggers go," said Haley, helping 
himself to a glass of brandy. 

No ; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible, 
pious fellow. He got religion at a camp-meeting, four 
years ago ; and I believe he really did get it. Fve trusted 
him, since then, with everything I have, — money, house, 
horses, — and let him come and go round the country ; and 
I always found him true and square in everything." 

Some folks donT believe there is pious niggers, Shel- 
by," said Haley, with a candid flourish of his hand, hut 
I do. I had a fellow, now, in this yer last lot I took to 
Orleans — it was as good as a meetin^ now, really, to hear 
that critter pray ; and he was quite gentle and quiet like. 
He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap of 
a man that was 'bliged to sell out ; so I realized six hun- 
dred on him. Yes, I consider religion a valeyable thing in 
a nigger, when iFs the genuine article, and no mistake." 

Well, Tom^s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,^' 
rejoined the other. Why, last fall, I let him go to Cin- 
cinnati alone, to do business for me, and bring home flve 
hundred dollars. "Tom,"’ says I to him, trust you, 
because I think you^re a Christian — I know you wouldn^t 
cheat. ^ Tom comes hack, sure enough ; I knew he would. 
Some low fellows, they say, said to him — ' Tom, why donT 
you make tracks for Canada ? ^ ‘ Ah, master trusted me, 
and I couldnT,^ — they told me about it. I am sorry to 
part with Tom, I must say. You ought to let him cover 
the whole balance of the debt ; and you would, Haley, if 
you had any conscience." 



LIFE AMOj^y» THE LOWLY. 


9 


business can afford to keep, — just a little, you know, to 
swear by, as ^twere,^^ said the trader, jocularly ; and, 
then, Fm ready to do anything in reason to '’blige friends : 
but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a fellow — a 
leetle too hard/^ The trader sighed contemplatively, and 
poured out some more brandy. 

^^Well, then, Haley, how will you trade?" said Mr. 
Shelby, after an uneasy interval of silence. 

^^Well, havenT you a boy or gal that you could throw 
in with Tom ? " 

Hum ! — none that I could well spare ; to tell the truth, 
iFs only hard necessity makes me willing to sell at all. I 
donT like parting with any of my hands, thaFs a fact." 

Here the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, be- 
tween four and five years of age, entered the room. There 
was something in his appearance remarkably beautiful and 
engaging. His black hair, fine as fioss silk, hung in glossy 
curls about his round, dimpled face, while a pair of large 
dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from beneath 
the rich, long lashes, as he peered curiously into the apart- 
ment. A gay robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully 
made and neatly fitted, set off to advantage the dark and 
rich style of his beauty ; and a certain comi air of assur- 
ance, blended with bashfulness, showed that he had been 
not unused to being petted and noticed by his master. 

^^Hulloa, Jim Crow !" said Mr. Shelby, whistling, and 
snapping a bunch of raisins towards him, pick that up, 
now ! " 

The child scampered, with all his little strength, after 
the prize, while his master laughed. 

Come here, Jim Crow," said he. The child came up, 
and the master patted the curly head, and chucked him 
under the chin. 

Now, Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance 
and sing." The boy commenced one of those wild, gro- 
tesque songs common among the negroes, in a rich, clear 
voice, accompanying his singing with many comic evolu- 
tions of the hands, feet, and whole body, all in perfect 
time to the music. 

Bravo !" said Haley, throwing him a quarter of an 
orange. 

Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe, when he has 
the rheumatism," said his master. 


10 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OR, 


Instantly the flexible limbs of the child assumed the ap- 
pearance of deformity and distortion, as,, with his back 
humped up, and his master^s stick in his hand, he hobbled 
about the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful 
pucker, and spitting from right to left, in imitation of an 
old man. 

• Both gentlemen laughed uproariously. 

Now, Jim,^^ said his master, show us how old Elder 
Robbins leads the psalm. The boy drew his chubby 
face down to a formidable length, and commenced ton- 
ing a psalm tune through his nose, with imperturbable 
gravity. 

Hurrah ! bravo ! what a young ^un ! ” said Haley ; 
that chapes a case. Ell promise. Tell you what," said 
he, suddenly clapping his hand on Mr. Shelby^s shoulder, 
fling in that chap, and Ell settle the business — I will. 
Come, now, if that ainT doing the thing up about the 
rightest !" 

At this moment, the door was pushed gently open, and 
a young quadroon woman, apparently about twenty-five, 
entered the room. 

There needed only a glance from the child to her, to 
identify he" . 3 its mother. There was the same rich, full, 
dark eye, with its long lashes ; the same ripples of silky 
black hair. The brown of her complexion gave way on the 
cheek to a perceptible flush, which deepened as she saw 
the gaze of the strange man fixed upon her in bold and 
undisguised admiration. Her dress was of the neatest 
possible fit, and set off to advantage her finely moulded 
shape; — a delicately formed hand and a trim foot and 
ankle were items of appearance that did not escape the 
quick eye of the trader, well used to run up at a glance the 
points of a fine female article. 

Well, Eliza ?" said her master, as she stopped and 
looked hesitatingly at him. 

1 was looking for Harry, please, sir ; " and the hoy 
hounded toward her, showing his spoils, which he had 
gathered in the skirt of his robe. 

Well, take him away, then," said Mr. Shelby; and 
hastily she withdrew, carrying the child on her arm. 

By Jupiter," said the trader, turning to him in ad- 
miration, there^s an article, now ! You might make 
your fortune on that ar gal in Orleans, any day. I^ve 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


li 


seen over a thousand, in my day, paid down for gals not a 
bit handsomer." 

I don^t want to make my fortune on her,” said Mr. 
Shelby, dryly ; and, seeking to turn the conversation, he 
uncorked a bottle of fresh wine, and asked his companion's 
opinion of it. 

Capital, sir, — first chop ! ” said the trader ; then turn- 
ing, and slapping his hand familiarly on Shelby^s shoulder, 
he added — 

Come, how will you trade about the gal ? — what shall 
I say for her — whatfil you take ? ” 

Mr. Haley, she is not to be sold,” said Shelby. My 
wife would not part with her for her weight in gold.” 

Ay, ay ! women always say such things, ^cause they 
haVt no sort of calculation. Just show "’em how many 
watches, feathers, and trinkets, one^s weight in gold would 
buy, and that alters the case I reckon.” 

I tell you, Haley, this must not be spoken of ; I say 
no, and I mean no,” said Shelby, decidedly. 

Well, youfil let me have the boy, though,” said the 
trader ; you must own Fve come down pretty hand- 
somely for him. ” 

What on earth can you want with the child ? ” said 
Shelby. 

Why, Fve got a friend thaFs going into this yer branch 
of the business — wants to buy up handsome boys to raise 
for the market. Fancy articles entirely — sell for waiters, 
and so on, to rich ^uns, that can pay for handsome ■’uns. 
It sets off one of yer great places — a real handsome boy to 
open door, wait, and tend. They fetch a good sum ; and 
this little devil is such a comical, musical concern, he^s just 
the article.” 

I would rather not sell him,” said Mr. Shelby, thought- 
fully ; the fact is, sir, I^m a humane man, and I hate to 
take the boy from his mother, sir.” 

^^0, you do ? — La ! yes — something of that ar natur. 
I understand, perfectly. It is mighty onpleasant getting 
on with women, sometimes. I aTays hate these yer 
screechin^ screamin^ times. They are mighty onpleasant ; 
but, as I manages business, I generally avoids ^em, sir. 
Now, what if you get the girl off for a day, or a week, or 
so; then the thing's done quietly, — all over before she 
comes home. Your wife might get her some earrings, 


12 UNCLE TOMS CABIN; OR, 

or a new gown, or some such truck, to make up with 
her." 

Fm afraid not." 

Lor bless ye, yes ! These critters anT like white 
folks, you know ; they gets over things, only manage right. 
IN’ow, they say," said Haley, assuming a candid and con- 
fidential air, ‘^that this kind o^ trade is hardening to the 
feelings ; but I never found it so. Fact is, I never could 
do things up the way some fellers manage the business. 
Fve seen "’em as would pull a woman^s child out her arms, 
and set him up to sell, and she screechin^ like mad all the 
time ; — very bad policy — damages the article — makes ^em 
quite unfit for service sometimes. I knew a real handsome 
gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely* ruined" by this sort 
o^ handling. The fellow that, was trading 'for her didn’t 
want her baby ; and she was one of your real high sort, 
when her blood was up. I tell you, she squeezed up her 
child in her arms, and talked, and went on real awful. It 
kinder makes -my blood run cold to think on’t ; and 
when they carried ofi the child, and locked her up,' she 
jest went ravin’ mad, and died in a week. Clear waste, 
sir, of a thousand dollars, just for want of management, — 
there’s where ’tis.> It’s always best to do the humane 
thing, sir ; that’s been my experience." And the trader 
leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms, with an air 
of virtuous decision, apparently considering himself a 
second Wilberforce. * 

The subject appeared to interest the gentleman deeply ; 
for while Mr. Shelby was thoughtfully peeling an orange, 
Haley broke out afresh, with becoming diffidence, but as 
if actually driven by the force of truth to say a few words 
more. 

It don^ look well, now, for a feller to be praisin^ him- 
self ; but I say it jest because it’s the truth. I believe I’m 
reckoned to bring in about the finest droves of niggers 
that is brought in,— at least, I’ve been told so ; if I have 
oncb, I reckon I have a hundred times, — all in good case, 
— fat and likely, and I lose as few as any man in the busi- 
ness. .And I lays it all to my management, sir; and 
humanity, sir, I may say, is the great pillar of my manage- 
ment." - 

Mr. Shelby did not know what to say, and so he said. 

Indeed ! ’’ 




LIFS AMONG TUB LOWLY. 13 

Now, IVe been laughed at for my notions, sir, and 
Pve been talked to. They* anT popular, and they an^t 
common ; but I stuck to ^em, sir ; Fve. stuck to "’em, and 
realized ‘well on ^em ; yes, sir, they have paid their pas- 
.sage, I may say,^^ and the trader laughed at his joke. 

There was something so piquant and original in thesb 
elucidations of humanity, that Mr. Shelby could not help 
laughing in company. Perhaps -you laugh, too, d'eax 
reader ; but you know humanity comes out in a variety of 
strange forms nowadays, and there is ■ no end to the odd 
things that humane people will say and do. 

Mr. Shelby^s laugh encouraged the trader to proceed. 

^^IFs strange, now, but I never could beat this into 
Peoples’s heads. Now, there was Tom Loker, my old part- 
ner, down in Natchez ; he was a clever fellow, Tom was, 
only the very devil with niggers, — on principal Twas, you 
see, for a better heated feller^ never broke bread ; ^twas 
his system, sir. I used to talk to Tom. ^ Why, Tom,^ I 
used to say, ^ when your gals takes on and cry, whak’s the 
use o^ crackin^ on ^em over the head, and knockin^ on ^em 
round ? IPs ridiculous,'’ says I, ^ and donT do no sort o^ 
good. Why, I don’t see no harm in their cryin’,’ says I ; 
^ it’s natur,’ says I, ^ and if patur can’t blow off one way, 
it will another. Besides, Tom,’ says I, it jest spiles your 
gals ; they get sickly, and down in the mouth, and some- 
times they gets' ugly, — particular yallow gals do,— and it’s 
the devil and all gettin’ on ’em broke in. Now,’ says I, 
‘ why can’t you kinder coax ’em up, and speak ’em fair ? 
Depend on it, Tom, a little humanity, thrown in along, 
goes a heap further than all your jawin’ and crackin’ ; and 
it pays better,’ says I, ^ depend on’t.’ But Tom couldn’t 
get the hang, on’t ; and he spiled so many for me, that 
I had to break off with him, though he was a good-hearted 
felloW), and as fair a business hand as is goin’.” 

And do you find your ways of managing do the busi- 
ness better than Tom’s ?” said Mr. Shelby. 

Why, yes, sir, I may say so. , You see, when I any- 
ways can, I takes a leetle care about the unpleasant parts 
like selling young ’uns and that,— get the gals out of the way 
— out of sight, out of mind, you know, — and when it’s 
clean done and can’t be helped, they naturally gets used 
to it. ’Tan’t, you know, as if it was white folks, that’s 
brought up in the way of ’spectin’ to keep their children 


Vi 


.1 


14 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


and wives, and all that. Niggers, you know, that^s fetched 
up properly, haVt no kind of ^spectations of no kind ; so 
all these things comes easier."’^ 

afraid mine are not properly brought up, then,^^ 
said Mr. Shelby. 

""S'pose not; you Kentucky folks spile your niggers. 
You mean well by ^em, but ^tan^t no real kindness, arter 
all. Now, a nigger, you see, whaFs got to be hacked and 
tumbled round the world, and sold to Tom, and Dick, and 
the Lord knows who, TanT no kindness to be givin^ on 
him notions and expectations, and bringin^ on him up too 
well, for the rough and tumble comes all the harder on 
him arter. Now, I venture to say, your niggers would be 
quite chop-fallen in a place where some of your plantation 
niggers would be singing and whooping like all possessed. 
Every man, you know, Mr. Shelby, naturally thinks well 
of his own ways ; and I think I treat niggers just about as 
well as iFs ever worth while to treat ^em.-’^ 

‘^IFs a happy thing to be satisfied, said Mr. Shelby, 
with a slight shrug, and some perceptible feelings of a dis- 
agreeable nature. 

^^Well,^^ said Haley, after they had both silently picked 
their nuts for a season, what do you say ? ” 

Fll think the matter over, and talk with my wife,” said 
Mr. Shelby. Meantime, Haley, if you want the matter 
crrried on in the quiet way you speak of, you^d best not let 
your business in this neighborhood be known. It will get 
out among my boys, and it will not be a particularly quiet 
business getting away any of my fellows, if they know it, 
Fll promise you.” 

"" 0 ! certainly, by all means, mum 1 of course. But Fll 
tell you, Fm in a devil of a hurry, and shall want to know, 
as soon as possible, what I may depend on,” said he, rising 
and putting on his overcoat. 

"'Well, call up this evening, between six and seven, and 
you shall have my answer,” said Mr. Shelby, and the trader 
bowed himself out of the apartment. 

" Vd like to have been able to kick the fellow down the 
steps,” said he to himself, as he saw the door fairly closed, 
" with his impudent assurance ; but he knows how much he 
has me at advantage. If anybody had ever said to me that I 
should sell Tom down south to one of those rascally traders, 
I should have said, "Is thy servant a dog- that he should 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


15 


do this thing ? ^ And now it must come, for aught I see. 
And Eliza^s child, too ! I know that I shall have some 
fuss with my wife about that ; and, for that matter, about 
Tom, too. So much for being in debt, — heigho ! The 
fellow sees his advantage, and means to push it.'’^ 

Perhaps . the mildest form of the system of slavery is to 
be seen in the State of Kentucky, The general prevalence 
of agricultural pursuits of a quiet and gradual nature, not 
requiring those periodic seasons of hurry and pressure that 
are called for in the business of more southern districts, 
makes the task of the negro a more healthful and reason^ 
able one ; while the master, content with a more gradual 
style of acquisition, has not those temptations to hard- 
heartedness which always overcome frail human nature 
when the prospect of sudden and rapid gain is weighed in 
the balance, with no heavier counterpoise than the interests 
of the helpless and unprotected. 

Whoever visits some estates there, and witnesses the 
good-humored indulgence of some masters and mistresses, 
and the affectionate loyalty of some slaves, might be tempted 
to dream the oft-fabled poetic legend of a patriarchal in- 
stitution, and all that ; but over and above the scene therc^ 
broods a portentous shadow — the shadow of law. So long 
as the law considers all these human beings, with beating 
hearts and living affections, only as so many things belong- 
ing to a master, — so long as the failure, or misfortune, or 
imprudence, or death of the kindest owner, may cause them 
any day to exchange a life of kind protection and indul- 
gence for one of hopeless misery and toil, — so long it is 
impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the 
best regulated administration of slavery. 

Mr. Shelby was a fair average kind of man, good-natured 
and kindly, and disposed to easy indulgence of those around 
him, and there had never been a lack of anything which 
might contribute to the physical comfort of the negroes on 
his estate. He had, however, speculated largely and quite 
loosely ; had involved himself deeply, and his notes to a 
large amount had come into the hands of Haley, and this 
small piece of information is the key to the preceding con- 
versation. 

Kow, it had so happened that, in approaching the door, 
Eliza had caught enough of the conversation to know that 
» trader was making offers to her master for somebodyo 


16 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


She would gladly have stopped at the door to listen, as 
she came out ; but her mistress just then calling, she was 
obliged to hasten away. 

Still she thought she heard the trader make an offer for 
her boy ; — could she be mistaken ? Her heart swelled and 
throbbed, and she involuntarily strained him so tight that 
the little fellow looked up into her face in astonishment. 

Eliza, girl, what ails you to-day ? said her mistress, 
when Eliza had upset the wash-pitcher, knocked down the 
work-stand, and finally was abstractedly offering her mis- 
tress a long night-gown in place of the silk dress she had 
ordered her to bring from the wardrobe. 

Eliza started. 0 missis ! she said, raising her eyes ; 
then bursting into tears, she sat down in a chair and began 
sobbing. 

Why, Eliza, child ! what ails you ? said her mistress, 

0 ! missis, missis,” said Eliza, there^s been a trader 
talking with master in the parlor ! I heard him.” 

^^Well, silly child, suppose there has.” 

‘‘ 0, missis, do you suppose mas^r would sell my Harry ? ” 
And the poor creature threw herself into a chair, and 
sobbed convulsively. 

^^Sell him! Ho, you foolish girl I You know your 
master never deals with those southern traders, and never 
means to sell any of his servants, as long as they behave 
well. Why, you silly child, who do you think would want 
to buy your Harry ? Do you think all the world are set 
on him as you are, you goosie ? Come, cheer up, and hook 
my dress. There now, put my back hair up in that pretty 
braid you learnt the other day, and donT go listening at 
doors any more.” 

Well, but, missis, you never would give your consent 
— to — ^to 

Nonsense, child ! to be sure, I shouldn't. What do you 
talk so for ? I would as soon have one of my own children 
sold. But really, Eliza, you are getting altogether too 
proud of that little fellow. A man can't put his nose into 
the door, but you think he must be coming to buy him.” 

Reassured by her mistress' confident tone, Eliza pro- 
ceeded nimbly and adroitly with her toilet, laughing at 
her own fears, as she proceeded. 

Mrs. Shelby was a woman of a high class, both intellect- 
ually and morally. To that natural magnanimity and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


17 


generosity of mind which one often marks as characteristic 
of the women of Kentucky, she added high moral and 
religious sensibility and principle, carried out with great 
energy and ability into practical results. Her husband, 
who made no professions to any particular religious char- 
acter, nevertheless reverenced and respected the consist- 
ency of hers, and stood, perhaps, a little in awe of her 
opinion. Certain it was that he gave her unlimited scope 
in all her benevolent efforts for the comfort, instruction, 
and improvement of her servants, though he never took 
any decided part in them himself. In fact, if not exactly 
a believer in the doctrine of the efficiency of the extra good 
works of saints, he really seemed somehow or other to fancy 
that his wife had piety and benevolence enough for two — 
to indulge a shadowy expectation of getting into heaven 
through her superabundance of qualities to which he made 
no particular pretension. 

The heaviest load on his mind, after his conversation 
with the trader, lay in the foreseen necessity of breaking 
to his wife the arrangement contemplated, — meeting the 
importunities and opposition which he knew he should 
have reason to encounter. 

Mrs. Shelby, being entirely ignorant of her husband’s 
embarrassments, and knowing only the general kindliness 
of his temper, had been quite sincere in the entire incre- 
dulity with which she had met Eliza’s suspicions. In fact, 
she dismissed the matter from her mind, without a second 
thought ; and being occupied in preparations for an even- 
ing visit, it passed out of her thoughts entirely. 


CHAPTEK II. 

THE MOTHEE. 

Eliza had been brought up by her mistress, from girl- 
hood, as a petted and indulged favorite. 

The traveller in the south must often have remarked 
that peculiar ' air of refinement, that softness of voice and 
manner, which seems in many cases to be a particular gift 
to the quadroon and mulatto women. These natural graces 


18 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


in the quadroon are often united with beauty of the most 
dazzling kind, and in almost every case with a personal 
appearance prepossessing and agreeable. Eliza, such as we 
have described her, is not a fancy sketch, hut taken from 
remembrance, as we saw her, years ago, in Kentucky. 
Safe under the protecting care of her mistress, Eliza had 
reached maturity without those temptations which make 
beauty so fatal an inheritance to a slave. She had been 
married to a bright and talented young mulatto man, who 
was a slave on a neighboring estate, and bore the name of 
George Harris. 

This young man had been hired out by his master to 
work in a bagging factory, where his adroitness and in- 
genuity caused him to he considered the first hand in the 
place. He had invented a machine for the cleaning of the 
hemp, which, considering the education and circumstances 
of the inventor, displayed quite as much mechanical 
genius as Whitney^s cotton-gin.* 

He was possessed of a handsome person and pleasing 
manners, and was a general favorite in the factory. Never- 
theless, as this young man was in the eye of the law not 
a man, but a thing, all these superior qualifications were 
subject to the control of a vulgar, narrow-minded, tyran- 
nical master. This same gentleman, having heard of the 
fame of George's invention, took a ride over to the factory, 
to see what this intelligent chattel had been about. He 
was received with great enthusiasm by the employer, who 
congratulated him on possessing so valuable a slave. 

He was waited upon over the factory, shown the ma- 
chinery by George, who, in high spirits, talked so fiuently, 
held himself so erect, looked so handsome and manly, that 
his master began to feel an uneasy consciousness of infe- 
riority. What business had his slave to be marching round 
the country, inventing machines, and holding up his head 
among gentlemen ? He'd soon put a stop to it. He'd 
take him back, and put him to hoeing and digging, and 
^"see if he'd step about so smart." Accordingly, the 
manufacturer and all hands concerned were astounded 
when he suddenly demanded George's wages, and an- 
nounced his intention of taking him home. 

* A machine of this description was really the invention of a 
young colored man in Kentucky. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 19 

But, Mr. Harris,” remonstrated the manufacturer, 
isn^t this rather sudden ? ” 

What if it is ? — isn't the man mine 9 ” 

We would be willing, sir, to increase the rate of com- 
pensation.” 

No object at all, sir. I don't need to hire any of my 
hands out, unless I've a mind to.” 

“ But, sir, he seems peculiarly adapted to this busi- 
ness.” 

Dare say he may be ; never was much adapted to any- 
thing that I set him about. I'll be bound.” 

^^But only think of his inventing this machine,” inter- 
posed one of the workmen, rather unluckily. 

0 yes ! — a machine for saving work, is it ? He'd in- 
vent that. I'll be bound ; let a nigger alone for that, any 
time. They are all labor-saving machines themselves, every 
one of 'em. No, he shall tramp ! ” 

George had stood like one transfixed, at hearing his doom 
thus suddenly pronounced by a power that he knew was 
irresistible. He folded his arms, tightly pressed in his lips, 
but a whole volcano of bitter feelings burned in his bosom, 
and sent streams of fire through his veins. He breathed 
short, and his large dark eyes flashed like live coals ; and 
he might have broken out into some dangerous ebullition, 
had not the kindly manufacturer touched him on the arm, 
and said, in a low tone — 

Give way, George ; go with him for the present. 
We'll try to help you, yet.” 

The tyrant observed the whisper, and conjectured its 
import, though he could not hear what was said ; and he 
inwardly strengthened himself in his determination to keep 
the power he possessed over his victim. 

George was taken home, and put to the meanest drudgery 
of the farm. He had been able to repress every disrespect- 
ful word ; but the flashing eye, the gloomy and troubled 
brow, were part of a natural language that could not be 
repressed, — indubitable signs, which showed too plainly that 
the man could not become a thing. 

It was during the happy period of his employment in the 
factory that George had seen and married his wife. During 
that period, — being much trusted and favored by his em- 
ployer, — ^he had free liberty to come and go at discretion. 
The marriage was highly approved of by Mrs. Shelby, 


20 


UNCLE TOM 'S CABIN ; OR, 


who, with a little womanly complacency in match-making, 
felt pleased to unite her handsome favorite with one of 
her own class who seemed in every way suited to her ; 
and so they were married in her mistress^ great parlor, 
and her mistress herself adorned the bride^s beautiful hair 
with orange-blossoms, and threw over it the bridal-veil, 
which certainly could scarce have rested on a fairer 
head ; and there was no lack of white gloves, and cake and 
wine, — of admiring guests to praise the bride^s beauty, and 
her mistress' indulgence and liberality. For a year or two 
Eliza saw her husband frequently, and there was nothing 
to interrupt their happiness, except the loss of two infant 
children, to whom she was passionately attached, and whom 
she mourned with a grief so intense as to call for gentle 
remonstrance from her mistress, who sought, with maternal 
anxiety, to direct her naturally passionate feelings within 
the bounds of reason and religion. 

After the birth of little Harry, however, she had gradu- 
ally become tranquillized and settled ; and every bleeding 
tie and throbbing nerve, once more entwined with that 
little life, seemed to become sound and healthful, and 
Eliza was a happy woman up to the time that her husband 
was rudely torn from his kind employer, and brought 
under the iron sway of his legal owner. 

The manufacturer, true to his word, visited Mr. Harris 
a week or two after George had been taken away, when, 
as he hoped, the heat of the occasion had passed away, 
and tried every possible inducement to lead him to restore 
him to his former employment. 

You needn't trouble yourself to talk any longer," said 
he doggedly ; know my own business, sir." 

did not presume to interfere with it, sir. I only 
thought that you might think it for your interest to let 
your man to us on the terms proposed." 

0, I understand the matter well enough. I saw your 
winking and whispering, the day I took him out of the 
factory ; but you don't come it over me that way. It's a 
free country, sir ; the man's mine, and I do what I please 
with him, — that's it ! " 

And so fell George's last hope nothing before him but 
a life of toil and drudgery, rendered more bitter by every 
little smarting vexation and indignity which tyrannical 
ingenuity could devise. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


21 


A very humane jurist once said. The worst use you can 
put a man to is to hang him. No ; there is another use 
that a man can be put to that is wokse ! 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HUSBAND AND EATHEE. 

Mbs. Shelby had gone on her visit, and Eliza stood in 
the verandah, rather dejectedly looking after the retreat- 
ing carriage, when a hand was laid on her shoulder. She 
turned, and a bright smile lighted up her fine eyes. 

“ George, is it you ? How you frightened me ! Well, 
I am so glad you^s come ! Missis is gone to spend the af- 
ternoon ; so come into my little room, and wefil have the 
time all to ourselves."’^ 

Saying this, she drew him into a neat little apartment, 
opening on the verandah, where she generally sat at her 
sewing, within call of her mistress. 

How glad I am ! — why donT you smile? — and look at 
Harry — how he grows. The hoy stood shyly regarding 
his father through his curls, holding close to the skirts of 
his mother^s dress. ^^IsnT he beautiful?"’'’ said Eliza, 
lifting his long curls and kissing him. ^ 

I wish he’d never been born ! ” said George, bitterly. 

I wish rd never been bom myself I” 

Surprised and frightened, Eliza sat down, leaned her 
head on her husband’s shoulder, and burst into tears. 

There now, Eliza, it’s too bad for me to make you feel 
so, poor girl ! ” said he, fondly ; it’s too had. 0, how 
I wish you never had seen me — ^you might have been 
happy ! ” 

“ George ! George ! how can you talk so ? What 
dreadful thing has happened, or is going to happen ? 
I’m sure we’ve been very happy, till lately.” 

So we have, dear,” said George. Then drawing his 
child on his knee, he gazed intently on his glorious dark 
eyes, and passed his hand through his long curls. 

Just like you, Eliza; and you are the handsomest 
woman I ever saw, and the best one I ever wish to see ; 
but, oh, I wish I’d never seen you, nor you me ! ” 


22 


UNCLE TOMS CABIN; OR, 


0 George, how can you ! 

“Yes, Eliza, it’s all misery, misery, misery ! My life is 
bitter as wormwood ; the very life is burning out of me. 
I’m a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge : I shall only drag 
you down with me, that’s all. What’s the use of our trying 
to do anything, trying to know anything, trying to be any- 
thing ? What’s the use of living ? I wish I was dead ! ” 

“ 0 now, dear George, that is really wicked ! I know 
how you feel about losing your place in the factory, and 
you have a hard master ; but pray be patient, and perhaps 
something ” 

“ Patient ! ” said he, interrupting her ; “ haven’t I been 
patient ? Did I say a word when he came and took me 
away, for no earthly reason, from the place where every- 
body was kind to me ? I’d paid him truly every cent of 
my earnings, — and they all say I worked well.” 

“ Well, it is dreadful,” said Eliza ; “but, after all, he is 
your master, you know.” 

“My master! and who made him my master ? That’s 
what I think of — what right has he to me ? I’m a man as 
much as he is. I’m a better man than he is. I know 
more about business than he does ; I am a better manager 
than he is ; I can read better than he can ; I can write a 
better hand, — and I’ve learned it all myself, and no thanks 
to him, — I’ve learned it in spite of him ; and now what 
right has he to make a dray-horse of me ? — to take me 
from things I can do, and do better than he can, and put 
me to work that any horse can do ? He tries to do it ; he 
says he’ll bring me down and humble me, and he puts me 
to just the hardest, meanest, and dirtiest work, on pur- 
pose ! ” 

“ 0 George ! George ! you frighten me ! Why, I never 
heard you talk so ; I’m afraid you’ll do something dreadful. 
I don’t wonder at your feelings, at all ; hut oh, do be care- 
ful — do, do — for my sake — for Harry’s ! ” 

“ I have been careful, and I have been patient, but it’s 
powing worse and worse ; flesh and blood can’t bear it any 
longer ; — every chance he can get to insult and torment me, 
be takes. I thought I could do my work well, and keep on 
quiet, and have some time to read and learn out of work 
hours ; but the more he sees I can do, the more he loads on. 
He says that though I don’t say anything, he sees I’ve got 
the devil in me, and he means to bring it out ; and one of 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


23 


these days it will come out in a way that he won^t like, or 
I^m mistaken ! " 

0 dear ! what shall we do ? said Eliza, mournfully. 

It was only yesterday, said George, as I was busy 
loading stones into a cart that young Mas^r Tom stood 
there, slashing his whip so near the horse that the creature 
was frightened. I asked him to stop, as pleasant as I could, 
— he just kept right on. I begged him again, and then he 
turned on me, and began striking me. I held his hand, 
and then he screamed and kicked and ran to his father, 
and told him that I was fighting him. He came in a rage, 
and said he^d teach me who was my master ; and he tied 
me to a tree, and cut switches for young master, and told 
him that he might whip me till he was tired ; — and he did 
do it ! If I donT make him remember it, some time ! 
and the brow of the young man grew dark, and his eyes 
burned with an expression that made his voung wife trem- 
ble. Who made this man my master r That^s what I 
want to know ! " he said. 

^^Well,^^ said Eliza, mournfully, I always thought 
that I must obey my master and mistress, or I couldnT be 
a Christian.^'’ 

There is some sense in it, in your case ; they have 
brought you up like a child, fed you, clothed you, indulged 
you, and taught you, so that you have a good education ; 
that is some reason why they should claim you. But I 
have been kicked and cuffed and sworn at, and at the best 
only let alone ; and what do I owe ? IVe paid for all 
my keeping a hundred times over. I won^t bear it. 
No, I wonH ! ” he said, clenching his hand with a fierce 
frown. 

Eliza trembled, and was silent. She had never seen her 
husband in this mood before ; and her gentle system of 
ethics seemed to bend like a reed in the surges of such 
passions. 

You know poor little Carlo, that you gave me,” added 
George ; the creature has been about all the comfort that 
Fve had. He has slept with me nights, and followed me 
around days, and kind o^ looked at me as if he understood 
how I felt. Well, the other day I was just feeding him 
with a few old scraps I picked up by the kitchen door, and 
Mask came along, and said I was feeding him up at his ex- 
pense, and that he couldn’t afford to have every nigger keep- 


24 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


ing his dog, and ordered me to tie a stone to his neck and 
throw him in the pond." 

“ 0 George, yon didn^’t do it ! " 

Do it ? not I ! — but he did. Mas^r and Tom pelted 
the poor drowning creature with stones. Poor thing ! he 
looked at me so mournful, as if he wondered why I didnT 
save him. I had to take a flogging because I wouldnT do 
it myself. I donT care. MasT will And out that Pm one 
that whipping wonT tame. My day will come yet, if he 
donT look out." 

What are you going to do ? 0 George, donT do any- 

thing wicked ; if you only trust in God, and try to do right, 
hefll deliver you." 

I anT a Christian like you, Eliza ; my hearths full of 
bitterness ; I can’t trust in God. Why does he let things 
he so ? " 

0 George, we must have faith. Mistress says that 
when all things go wrong to us, we must believe that God 
is doing the very best." 

That’s easy to say for people that are sitting on their 
sofas and riding in their carriages ; hut let ’em he where I 
am, I guess it would come some harder. I wish I could be 
good ; hut my heart burns, and can’t be reconciled, any- 
how. You couldn’t, in my place, — you can’t now, if I tell 
tell you all I’ve got to say. You don’t know the whole 
yet ! ” 

“ What can be coming now ? ’’ 

Well, lately Mas’r has been saying that he was a fool 
to let me marry off the place ; that he hates Mr. Shelby 
and all his tribe, because they are proud, and hold their 
heads up above him, and that I’ve got proud notions from 
you ; and he says he won’t let me come here any more, and 
that I shall take a wife and settle down on his place. At 
first he only scolded and grumbled these things ; but 
yesterday he told me that I should take Mina for a wife, 
and settle down in a cabin with her, or he would sell me 
down river." 

Why — but you were married to me, by the minister, 
as much as if you’d been a white man ! ’’ said Eliza, 
sim 



Don’t you know a slave can’t be married ? There is 
no law in this country for that ; I can’t hold you for my 
wife, if he chooses to part us. That’s why I wish I’d never 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


25 


leen you, — why I wish Fd never been horn ; it would have 
been better for us both, — it would have been better for 
this poor child if he had never been born. All this may 
happen to him yet ! " 

^^0, hut master is so kind ! ” 

Yes, but who knows ? — he may die — and then he may 
be sold to nobody knows who. What pleasure is it that 
he is handsome, and smart, and bright ? I tell you, Eliza, 
that a sword will pierce through your soul for every good 
and pleasant thing your child is or has ; it will make him 
worth too much for you to keep ! 

The words smote heavily on Eliza^s heart ; the vision of 
the trader came before her eyes, and, as if some one had 
struck her a deadly blow, she turned pale and gasped for 
breath. She looked nervously out on the verandah, where 
the boy, tired of the grave conversation, had retired, and 
where he was riding triumphantly up and down on Mr. 
Shelby^s walking-stick. She would have spoken to tell 
her husband her fears, but checked herself. 

^^No, no, — he has enough to bear, poor fellow !" she 
thought. No, I wonT tell him ; besides, it anT true ; 
Missis never deceives us.^^ 

So, Eliza, my girl,'’^ said the husband, mournfully, 
^^bear up, now ; and good-bye, for I^m going.” 

Going, George ! Going where ? ” 

To Canada,” said he, straightening himself up, and 
when I^m there. 111 buy you ; that^s all the hope thaFs 
left us. You have a kind master, that wonT refuse to sell 
you. Ill buy you and the boy. — God helping me, I 
will ! ” 

0 dreadful ! if you should he taken ? ” 

1 wonT be taken, Eliza ; 111 die first ! Ill be free, or 
111 die!” 

You wonT kill yourself I ” 

^^No need of that. They will kill me, fast enough; 
they never will get me down the river alive ! ” 

0 George, for my sake, do be careful I Don^t do 
anything wicked ; don’t lay hands on yourself, or anybody 
else ! You are tempted too much — too much ; but don’t 
— go you must — but go carefully, prudently ; pray God 
to help you.” 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


26 

Symmes, that lives a mile past. I believe he expected I 
should come here to tell you what I have. It would please 
him, if he thought it would aggravate " Shelby's folks,' 
as he calls 'em. I'm going home quite resigned, you um 
derstand, as if all was over. I've got some preparations 
made, — and there are those that will help me ; and, in the 
course of a week or so, I shall be among the missing, some 
day. Pray for me, Eliza ; perhaps the good Lord will hear 
you.^^ 

"" 0, pray yourself, George, and go trusting in him ; then 
you won't do anything wicked." 

""Well, now, good-hye” said George, holding Eliza's 
hands, and gazing into her eyes, without moving. They 
stood silent ; then there were last words, and sobs, and 
bitter weeping, — such parting as those may make whose 
hope to meet again is as the spider's web, — and the hus- 
band and wife were parted. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

AN EVENING IN UNCLE TOM's CABIN. 

The cabin of Uncle Tom was a small log building, close 
adjoining to "" the house," as the negro par excellence des- 
ignates his master's dwelling. In front it had a neat gar- 
den-patch, where, every summer, strawberries, raspberries, 
and a variety of fruits and vegetables, flourished under 
careful tending. The whole front of it was covered by a 
large scarlet bignonia and a native multiflora rose, which, 
entwisting and interlacing, left scarce a vestige of the rough 
logs to be seen. Here, also, in summer, various brilliant 
annuals, such as marigolds, petunias, four-o'clocks, found 
an indulgent corner in which to unfold their splendors, 
and were the delight and pride of Aunt Chloe's heart. 

Let us enter the dwelling. The evening meal at the 
house is over, and Aunt Chloe, who presided over its prep- 
aration as head cook, has left to inferior officers in the 
kitchen the business of clearing away and washing dishes, 
and come out into her own snug territories, to ""get her 
ole man's supper ; " therefore, doubt not that it is her you 
see by the Are, presiding with anxious interest over certain 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


27 


frizzling items in a stew-pan, and anon with grave considera- 
tion lifting the cover of a bake-kettle, from whence steam 
forth indubitable intimations of something good/^ A 
round, black, shining face is hers, so glossy as to suggest 
the idea that she might have been washed over with white 
of eggs, like one of her own tea-rusks. Her whole plump 
countenance beams with satisfaction and contentment from 
under her well-starched checked turban, bearing on it, how- 
ever, if we must confess it, a little of that tinge of self- 
consciousness which becomes the first cook of the neighbor- 
hood as Aunt Chloe was universally held and acknowledged 
to be. 

A cook she certainly was, in the very hone and centre of 
her soul. Hot a chicken or turkey or duck in the barn- 
yard but looked grave when they saw her approaching, and 
seemed evidently to he reflecting on their latter end ; and 
certain it was that she was always meditating on trussing, 
stuffing, and roasting, to a degree that was calculated to 
inspire terror in any reflecting fowl living. Her corn-cake, 
in all its varieties of hoe-cake, dodgers, muffins, and other 
species too numerous to mention, was a sublime mystery to 
all less practised compounders ; and she would shake her 
fat sides with honest pride and merriment, as she would 
narrate the fruitless efforts that one and another of her com- 
peers had made to attain to her elevation. 

The arrival of company at the house, the arranging of 
dinners and suppers in style, awoke all the energies of 
her soul ; and no sight was more welcome to her than a pile 
of travelling trunks launched on the verandah, for then she 
foresaw fresh efforts and fresh triumphs. 

Just at present, however. Aunt Chloe is looking into the 
bake-pan : in which congenial operation we shall leave her 
till we finish our picture of the cottage. 

In one corner of it stood a bed, covered neatly with a 
snowy spread ; and by the side of it was a piece of carpet- 
ing, of some considerable size. On this piece of carpeting 
Aunt Chloe took her stand, as being decidedly in the upper 
walks of life ; and it and the bed by which it lay, and the 
whole corner, in fact, were treated with distinguished con- 
sideration, and made, so far as possible, sacred from the 
marauding inroads and desecrations of little folks. In fact, 
that corner was the drawing-room of the establishment. 
In the other corner was a bed of much humbler preten- 


28 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


feions, and evidently designed for use. The wall over the 
fireplace was adorned with some very brilliant Scriptural 
prints, and a portrait of General Washington, drawn and 
colored in a manner which would certainly have astonished 
that hero, if ever he had happened to meet with its like. 

On a rough bench in the corner, a couple of woolly- 
headed boys, with glistening black eyes and fat shining 
cheeks, were busy in superintending the first walking 
operations of the baby, which, as is usually the case, con- 
sisted in getting up on its feet, balancing a moment, and 
then tumbling down, — each successive failure being vio- 
lently cheered, as something decidedly clever. 

A table, somewhat rheumatic in its limbs, was drawn out 
in front of the fire, and covered with a cloth, displaying 
cups and saucers of a decidedly brilliant pattern, with 
other symptoms of an approaching meal. At this table was 
seated Uncle Tom, Mr. Shelby^s best hand, who, as he is 
to be the hero of our story, we must daguerreotype for our 
readers. He was a large, broad-chested, powerfully-made 
man of a full glossy black, and a face whose truly African 
features were characterized by an expression of grave and 
steady good sense, united with much kindliness and benev- 
olence. There was something about his whole air self- 
respecting and dignified, yet united with a confiding and 
humble simplicity. 

He was very busily intent at this moment on a slate lying 
before him, on which he was carefully and slowly endeavor- 
ing to accomplish a copy of some letters, in which opera- 
tions he was overlooked by young MasT George, a smart, 
bright boy of thirteen, who appeared fully to realize the 
dignity of his position as instructor. 

^^Hot that way. Uncle Tom, — not that way,^^ said he, 
briskly, as Uncle Tom laboriously brought up the tail of 
his g the wrong side out ; that makes a q, you see.” 

^^La sakes, now, does it?” said Uncle Tom, looking 
with^ a respectful, admiring air, as his young teacher 
flourishingly scrawled and innumerable for his edifi- 
cation : and then, taking the pencil in his big, heavy fingers, 
he patiently re-commenced. 

^‘^How easy white folks akus does things!” said Aunt 
Chloe, pausing while she was greasing a griddle with a 
scrap of bacon on her fork, and regarding young Master 
George with pride. The way he can write, now ! and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


29 


read too ! and then to come out here evenings and read 
his lessons to us, — it^s mighty interesting ! 

But, Aunt Chloe, Fm getting mighty hungry, said 
George. Isn^’t that cake in the skillet almost done ? 

^Mose done, Mas^r George,^' said Aunt Chloe, lifting 
the lid and peeping in, — browning beautiful — a real 
lovely brown. Ah ! let me alone for dat. Missis let Sally 
try to make some cake, Fother day, jes to larn her, she 
said. ^ 0, go Vay, Missis,'’ says I ; ^ it really hurts my 
feelings now, to see good vittles spiled dat ar way ! Cake 
ris all to one side — no shape at all ; no more than my shoe ; 
— go Vay ! ^ 

And with this final expression of contempt for Sally^s 
greenness. Aunt Chloe whipped the cover off the bake- 
kettle and disclosed to view a neatly-baked pound-cake, of 
which no city confectioner need to have been ashamed. 
This being evidently the central point of the entertainment. 
Aunt Chloe began now to bustle about earnestly in the 
supper department. 

Here you, Mose and Pete ! get out de way, you nig- 
gers ! Get away, Polly, honey, — mammyfil give her baby 
somefin^, by and by. Now, Mas^’r George, you jest take off 
dem books, and set down now with my old man, and Ifil 
take up de sausages, and have de first griddle full of cakes 
on your plates in less dan no time.'’^ 

They wanted me to come to supper in the house," 
said George ; hut I knew what was what too well for 
that. Aunt Chloe." 

So you did — so you did, honey," said Aunt Chloe, 
heaping the smoking batter-cakes on his plate ; you 
knowM your old auntyM keep the best for you. 0, let you 
alone for dat ! Go Vay ! " And, with that, aunty gave 
George a nudge with her finger, designed to he immensely 
facetious, and turned again to her griddle with great 
briskness. 

Now for the cake," said Mash George, when the activ- 
ity of the griddle department had somewhat subsided ; 
and, with that, the youngster fiourished a large knife over 
the article in question. 

La bless you. Mash George ! " said Aunt Chloe, with 
earnestness, catching his arm, youwouldnh be forcuttin^ 
it wid dat ar great heavy knife ! Smash all down — spile 
all de pretty rise of it. Here, Ihe got a thin old knife, I 


30 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


keeps sharp a purpose. Dar now, see ! comes apart light 
as a feather ! Now eat away — you won^t get anything to 
beat dat ar.^^ 

^^Tom Lincon says,^ said George, speaking with his 
mouth full, that their Jinny is a better cook than you.’’^ 

Dem Lincons an^’t much ^count, no way ! said Aunt 
Chloe, contemptuously ; I mean, set alongside our folks. 
They’s ^spectable folks enough in a kinder plain way ; but 
as to gettin^ up anything in style, they don^t begin to have 
a notion on’t. Set Mas^r Lincon,. now, alongside Mas^r 
Shelby ! Good Lor ! and Missis Lincon, — can she kinder 
sweep it into a room like my missis, — so kinder splendid, 
yer know ! 0, go Vay ! don^t tell me nothin^ of dem 

Lincons ! — and Aunt Chloe tossed her head as one who 
hoped she did know something of the world. 

“ Well, though, IVe heard you say," said George, that 
Jinny was a pretty fair cook." 

^^So I did," said Aunt Chloe , — ‘^1 may say dat. Good, 
plain, common cookin^. Jinny J1 do ; — make a good pone 
o^ bread, — bile her taters far, — her corn cakes isn^t extra, 
not extra now, Jinny^s corn cakes isn^t, but then they^s far, 
— but. Lor, come to de higher branches, and what can she 
do ? Why, she makes pies — sartin she does ; but what 
kinder crust ? Can she make your real flecky paste, as 
melts in your mouth, and lies all up like a puff ? Now, I 
went over thar when Miss Mary was gwine to be married, 
and Jinny she jest showed me de weddin^ pies. Jinny and 
I is good friends, ye know. I never said nothin^ but go 
Jong, Mas J George ! Why, I shouldn J sleep a wink for a 
week, if I had a batch of pies like dem ar. Why, dey 
wanJ no ^count Jail." 

I suppose Jinny thought they were ever so nice," said 
George. 

Thought so ! — didnJ she ? Thar she was, showing 
^em as innocent — jq see, iCs jest here. Jinny donH Icnow, 
Lor, the family anJ nothing ! She canJ be Jpected to 
know ! ^Ta"nt no fault o" hern. Ah, MasJ George, you 
doesn J know half your privileges in yer family and bringin^ 
up ! " Here Aunt Chloe sighed, and rolled up her eyes 
with emotion. 

^‘Tm sure. Aunt Chloe, I understand all my pie and 
pudding privileges," said George. Ask Tom Lincon if I 
don’t crow over him, every time I meet him." 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


81 


Aunt Chloe sat back in her chair, and indulged in a 
hearty guffaw of laughter, at this witticism of young Mas’r^s, 
laughing till the tears rolled down her black, shining cheeks, 
and varying the exercise with playfully slapping and pok- 
ing Mas"r Georgey, and telling him to go Vay, and that he 
was a case — that he was fit to kill her, and that he sartin 
would kill her, one of these days ; and, between each of 
these sanguinary predictions, going off into a laugh, each 
longer and stronger than the other, till George really began 
to think that he was a very dangerously wfitty fellow, and 
that it became him to be careful how he talked ^^as funny 
as he could.” 

And so ye telled Tom, did ye ^ 0 Lor ! what young 
^uns will be up ter ! Ye crowed over Tom ? 0 Lor ! 
MasT George, if ye wouldnT make a hornbug laugh ? ” 

Yes,” said George, I says to him, ^ Tom, you ought 
to see some of Aunt Chloe^s pies ; theyTe the right sort,* 
says I.” 

‘^Pity, now, Tom couldnT,” said Aunt Chloe, on whose 
benevolent heart the idea of Tonies benighted condition 
seemed to make a strong impression. “Ye oughter just ask 
him here to dinner, some o^ these times, MasT George,” 
she added ; “it would look quite pretty of ye. Ye know, 
MasT George, ye oughtenter feel Tove nobody, on Yount 
yer privileges, "’cause all our privileges is gi’n to us ; we 
ought aPays to ’member that,” said Aunt Chloe, looking 
quite serious. 

“ Well, I mean to ask Tom here, some day next week,” 
said George ; “ and you do your prettiest. Aunt Chloe, and 
we’ll make him stare. Won’t we make him eat so he won’t 
get over it for a fortnight ? ” 

“Yes, yes — sartin,” said Aunt Chloe, delighted ; “ you’ll 
see. Lor ! to think of some of our dinners ! Yer mind 
dat ar great chicken-pie I made when we guv de dinner to 
General Knox ? I and Missis, we came pretty near quarrel- 
ling about dat ar crust. What does get into ladies some- 
times, I don’t know ; but, sometimes, when a body has de 
heaviest kind o’ ’sponsibility on ’em, as ye may say, and is 
all kinder ^ seris ’ and taken up, dey takes dat ar time to 
be hangin’ round and kinder interferin’ ! Kow, Missis, she 
wanted me to do dis way, and she wanted me to do dat 
way ; and, finally, I got kinder sarcy, and says I, ^ Now, 
Missis, do jist look at them beautiful white hands o’ yourn. 


32 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


with long fingers, and all a-sparkling with rings, like my 
white lilies when de deVs on "’em ; and look at my great 
black stumpin^ hands. Now, don^t ye think dat de Lord 
must have meant me to make de pie-crust, and you to stay 
in de parlor Dar ! I was jist so sarcy, Mas^r George.” 

And what did mother say ? ” said George. 

Say ? — why, she kinder larfed in her eyes — dem great 
handsome eyes o^ hern ; and, says she, ^ Well, Aunt Chloe, 
I think you are about in the right on^t,” says she ; and she 
went off in de parlor. She oughter cracked me over de 
head for bein^ so sarcy ; but dar^s whar ^tis — I can^t do 
nothin^ with ladies in de kitchen ! ” 

Well, you made out well with that dinner, — I remem- 
ber everybody said so,” said George. 

Didn^t I ? And wan^t I behind de dinin’-room door 
dat bery day ? and didn^’t I see de Gineral pass his plate 
three times for some more dat bery pie ? — and, says he, 
^ You must have an uncommon cook, Mrs. Shelby.^ Lor ! 
I was fit to split myself. 

And de Gineral, he knows what cookin^ is,” said Aunt 
Chloe, drawing herself up with an air. Bery nice man, 
de Gineral ! He comes of one of de bery fustest families 
in Old Virginny ! He knows what’s what, now, as well as 
I do — de Gineral. Ye see, there^s pints in all pies, MasY 
George ; but YanY everybody knows what they is, or orter 
be. But the Gineral, he knows ; I knew by his ^marks he 
made. Yes, he knows what de pints is ! ” 

By this time Master George had arrived at that pass to 
which even a boy can come (under uncommon circum- 
stances,) when he really could not eat another morsel and, 
therefore, he was at leisure to notice the pile of woolly 
heads and glistening eyes which were regarding their 
operations hungrily from the opposite corner. 

Here, you Mose, Pete,” he said, breaking off liberal 
bits, and throwing it at them; ^^you want some, donY 
you ? Come, Aunt Chloe, bake them some cakes.” 

And George and Tom moved to a comfortable seat in the 
chimney-corner, while Aunt Chloe, after baking a goodly 
pile of cakes, took her baby on her lap, and began alter- 
nately filling its mouth and her own, and distributing to 
Mose and Pete, who seemed rather to prefer eating theirs 
as they rolled about on the fioor under the table, tickling 
each other, and occasionally pulling the babyY toes. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


as 


0 ! go ^long, will ye ? said the mother, giving now 
and then a kick, in a kind of general way, under the table, 
when the movement became too obstreperous. Can^’t ye 
be decent when white folks comes to see ye ? Stop dat ar, 
now, will ye ? Better mind yerselves, or 1^11 take ye down 
a buttonhole lower, when Mas^r George is gone ! 

What meaning was couched under this terrible threat, it 
is difficult to say ; but certain it is that its awful indistinct- 
ness seemed to produce very little impression on the young 
sinners addressed. 

La, now ! said Uncle Tom, they are so full of 
tickle all the while, they canT behave theirselves.'’^ 

Here the boys emerged from under the table, and, with 
hands and faces well plastered with molasses, began a 
vigorous kissing of the baby. 

Get along wid ye ! said the mother, pushing away 
their woolly heads. Yell all stick together, and never 
get clar, if ye do dat fashion. Go long to de spring and 
wash yerselves ! she said, seconding her exhortations by a 
slap, which resounded very formidably, but which seemed 
only to knock out so much more laugh from the young 
ones, as they tumbled precipitately over each other out of 
doors, where they fairly screamed with merriment. * 

Did ye ever see such aggravating young ^uns ? said 
Aunt Chloe, rather complacently, as, producing an old 
towel, kept for such emergencies, she poured a little water 
out of the cracked teapot on it, and began rubbing off the 
molasses from the baby^s face and hands ; and having pol- 
ished her till she shone, she set her down in Tomb’s lap, 
while she busied herself in clearing away supper. The 
baby employed the intervals in pulling Tom^s nose, scratch- 
ing his face, and burying her fat hands in his woolly hair, 
which last operation seemed to afford her special content. 

AnT she a peart young ffin ? ” said Tom, holding her 
from him to take a full-length view ; then, getting up, he 
set her on his broad shoulder, and began capering and 
dancing with her, while Mash George snapped at her with 
his pocket-handkerchief, and Mose and Pete, now returned 
again, roared after her like bears, till Aunt Ohloe declared 
that they “ fairly took her head off with their noise. As, 
according to her own statement, this surgical operation 
was a matter of daily occurrence in the cabin, the declara- 
tion no whit abated the merriment, till every one had roarec* 
3 


34 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 

and tumbled and danced themselves down to a state ol 
composure. 

^^Well, now, I hopes you he done,” said Aunt Chloe, 
who had been busy in pulling out a rude box of a trundle- 
bed ; and now, you Mose and you Pete, get into thar ; for 
weh goin'’ to have the meetin\” 

^^0 mother, we donh wanter. We wants to sit up to 
meeting — meeting is so curis. We likes hm.” 

La, Aunt Chloe, shove it under, and let hm sit up,” 
said Mash George, decisively, giving a push to the rude 
machine. 

Aunt Chloe, having thus saved appearances, seemed 
highly delighted to push the thing under, saying, as she 
did so, Well, mebbehwill do hm some good.” 

The house now resolved itself into a committee of the 
whole, to consider the accommodations and arrangements 
for the meeting. 

What weh to do for cheers, now, I declar^ I donh 
know,” said Aunt Chloe. As the meeting had been held 
at Uncle Tomh, weekly, for an indefinite length of time, 
without any more cheers,” there seemed some encourage- 
ment to hope that a way would be discovered at present. 

Old Uncle Peter sung both de legs out of dat oldest 
cheer, last week,” suggested Mose. 

You go ^long ! ril boun^ you pulled ^em out; some 
o^ your shines,” said Aunt Chloe. 

^‘^Well, itfil stand, if it only keeps jam up agin de wall !” 
said Mose. 

‘^^Den Uncle Peter mustn’t sit in it, cause he aPays 
hitches when he gets a-singing. He hitched pretty nigh 
across the room, t’other night,” said Pete. 

Good Lor ! get him in it, then,” said Mose, and den 
he’d begin, ^ Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell,’ and 
den down he’d go,” — and Mose imitated precisely the nasal 
tones of the old man, tumbling on the floor, to illu^rate 
the supposed catastrophe. 

Come now, be decent, can’t ye ?” said Aunt Chloe ; 

an’t yer ’shamed ? ” 

Mas’r George, however, joined the offender in the laugh, 
and declared decidedly that Mose was a buster.” So the 
maternal admonition seemed rather to fail of effect. 

Well, ole man,” said Aunt Chloe, you’ll have to tote 
in them ar bar’ls.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


35 


“ Mother^s bar^ls is like dat ar widder^s, Mas^’r George 
was reading ^bout, in de good book, — dey never fails, said 
Mose, aside to Pete. 

I^’m sure one on ’em caved in last week,” said Pete, 

and let ’em all down in de middle of de singin’ ; dat ar 
was failin’, warn’t it ? ” 

During this aside between Mose and Pete, two empty 
casks had been rolled into the cabin, and being secured 
from rolling, by stones on each side, boards were laid across 
them, which arrangement, together with the turning down 
of certain tubs and pails, and the disposing of the rickety 
chairs, at last completed the preparation. 

“ Mas’r George is such a beautiful reader, now, I know 
he’ll stay to read for us,” said Aunt Chloe ; ’pears like 
’twill be so much more interestin’.” 

George very readily consented, for your boy is always 
ready for anything that makes him of importance. 

The room was soon filled with a motley assemblage, from 
the old gray-headed patriarch of eighty to the young girl 
and lad of fifteen. A little harmless gossip ensued on 
various themes, such as where old Aunt Sally got her 
new red head-kerchief, and how “ Missis was a-going to 
give Lizzy that spotted muslin gown, when she’d got her 
new berage made up ; ” and how Mas’r Shelby was think- 
ing of buying a new sorrel colt, that was going to prove an 
addition to the glories of the place. A few of the worship- 
pers belonged to families hard by, who had got permission to 
attend, and who brought in various choice scraps of infor- 
mation, about the sayings and doings at the house and on 
the place, which circulated as freely as the same sort of 
small change does in higher circles. 

After a while the singing commenced, to the evident de- 
light of all present. Not even all the disadvantage of nasal 
intonation could prevent the effect of the naturally fine 
voices, in airs at once wild and spirited. The words were 
sometimes the well-known and common hymns sung in the 
churches about, and sometimes of a wilder, more indefinite, 
character, picked up at camp-meetings. 

The chorus of one of them, which ran as follow^ was 
sung with great energy and unction : 

“ Die on the field of battle, 

Die on the field of battle, 

Glory in my soul,” 


36 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 

Another special favorite had oft repeated the words — 

“ O, I’m going to glory, — won’t you come along with me ? 

Don’t you see the angels beck’ning, and a-calling me away ? 

Don’t you see the golden city and the everlasting day ? ” 

There were others^, which made incessant mention ol 

Jordan^s banks/^ and Oanaan^s fields/^ and the New 
Jerusalem ; ” for the negro-mind^ impassioned and imagin- 
ative, always attaches itself to hymns and expressions of a 
vivid and pictorial nature ; and, as they sang, some laughed, 
and some cried, and some clapped hands, or shook hands 
rejoicingly with each other, as if they had fairly gained the 
other side of the river. 

Various exhortations, or relations of experience, followed, 
and intermingled with the singing. One old gray-headed 
woman, long past work, but much revered as a sort of 
chronicle of the past, rose, and leaning on her staff, said — 

‘^^Well, chiTen ! Well, Fm mighty glad to hear ye all 
and see ye all once more, ^cause I donT know when Fll be 
gone to glory ; hut Fve done got ready, chihen ; Spears 
like I^d got my little bundle all tied up, and my bonnet 
on, jest a- waitin’ for the stage to come along and take me 
home ; sometimes, in the night, I think I hear the wheels 
a-rattlin’, and I’m lookin’ out all the time ; now, you jest 
be ready too, for I tell ye all, chil’en,” she said, striking 
her staff hard on the floor, dat ar glory is a mighty thing ! 
It’s a mighty thing, chil’en, — ^you don’ no nothing about 
it, — it’s wonderful” And the old creature sat down, with 
streaming tears, as wholly overcome, while the whole 
circle struck up — 

“ O Canaan, bright Canaan, 

I’m bound for the land of Canaan.” 

Mas’r George, by request, read the last chapters of 
Revelation, often interrupted by such exclamations as 
'^The sokes now!” Only hear that!” ^^Jest think 
on’t ! ” Is all that a-comin’ sure enough ?” 

_ George, who was a bright boy, and well trained in re- 
ligious things by his mother, flnding himself an object of 
general admiration, threw in expositions of his own, from 
time to time, with a commendable seriousness and gravity, 
for which he was admired by the young and blessed by the 
old ; and it was agreed, on all hands, that a minister 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


37 


couldn^t lay it off better than he did : that ^twas reely 
'mazin^ \ ” 

Uncle Tom was a sort of patriarch in religious matters, 
in the neighborhood. Having, naturally, an organization 
in which the morale was strongly predominant, together 
with a greater breadth and cultivation of mind than ob- 
tained among his companions, he was looked up to with 
great respect, as a sort of minister among them ; and the 
simple, hearty, sincere style of his exhortations might have 
•edified even better educated persons. But it was in prayer 
that he especially excelled. Nothing could exceed the 
touching simplicity, the child-like earnestness, of his 
prayer, enriched with the language of Scripture, which 
seemed so entirely to have wrought itself into his being, 
as to have become a part of himself, and to drop from his 
lips unconsciously ; in the language of a pious old negro, 
he prayed right up.^^ And so much did his prayer 
always work on the devotional feelings of his audiences, 
that there seemed often a danger that it would be lost 
altogether in the abundance of the responses which broke 
out everywhere around him. 


While this scene was passing in the cabin of the man, 
one quite otherwise passed in the halls of the master. 

The trader and Mr. Shelby were seated together in the 
dintng-room afore-named, at a table covered with papers 
and writing utensils. 

Mr. Shelby was busy in counting some bundles of bills, 
which, as they were counted, he pushed over to the trader, 
who counted them likewise. 

All fair,” said the trader ; and now for signing these 
yer.” 

Mr. Shelby hastily drew the bills of sale towards him, 
and signed them, like a man that hurries over some dis- 
agreeable business, and then pushed them over with the 
money. Haley produced, from a well-worn valise, a parch- 
ment, which, after looking over it a moment, he handed 
to Mr. Shel%, who took it with a gesture of suppressed 
eagerness. 

‘^Wal, now, the thing^s done!” said the trader, get- 
ting up. 


38 


UN-CLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


It^s done ! ” said Mr. Shelby, in a musing tone ; and, 
fetching a long breath, he repeated, Ifs done ! ” 

Yer don^t seem to feel much pleased with it, Spears to 
me,^' said the trader. 

Haley, said Mr. Shelby, I hope you^ll remember 
that you promised, on your honor, you wouldn^’t sell Tom, 
without knowing what sort of hands he^s going into.^^ 

Why, youVe just done it, sir,"*^ said the trader. 

Circumstances, you well know, oUigedmQ,^^ said Shelby, 
haughtily. 

Wal, you know, they may ^blige me, too,^^ said the 
trader. Howsomever, 111 do the very best I can in get- 
tin’ Tom a good berth ; as to my treatin’ on him bad, you 
needn’t be a grain afeard. If there’s anything that I thank 
the Lord for, it is that I’m never noways cruel.” 

After the expositions which the trader had previously 
given of his humane principles, Mr. Shelby did not feel 
particularly reassured % these declarations ; but, as they 
were the best comfort the case admitted of, he allowed the 
trader to depart in silence, and betook himself to a solitary 
cigar. 


CHAPTEE V. 

SHOWING THE FEELIHGS OF LIYIHG PROPERTY OH 
CHAHGIHG OWHERS. 

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby had retired to their apartment for 
the night. He was lounging in a large easy-chair, looking 
over some letters that had come in the afternoon mail, and 
she was standing before her mirror, brushing out the com- 
plicated braids and curls in which Eliza had arranged her 
hair ; for, noticing her pale cheeks and haggard eyes, she 
had excused her attendance that night, and ordered her to 
bed. The employment, naturally enough, suggested her 
conversation with the girl in the morning ; and, turning 
to her husband, she said, carelessly, 

"" By the bye, Arthur, who was that low-bred fellow that 
you lugged in to our dinner-table to-day ? ” 

""Haley is his name,” said Shelby, turning himself 
rather uneasily in his chair, and continuing with lis eyes 
fixed on a letter. 


LIFE AMONG TEE LOWLY, 39 

Haley ! AVho is he, and what may be his business 
here, pray ? 

Well, he^s a man that I transacted some business with, 
last time I was at Natchez,^^ said Mr. Shelby. 

And he presumed on it to make himself quite at home, 
and call and dine here, ay ? " 

Why, I invited him ; I had some accounts with him,^^ 
said Shelby. 

Is he a negro- trader ? said Mrs. Shelby, noticing a 
certain embarrassment in her husband^’s manner. 

Why, my dear, what put that into your head said 
Shelby, looking up. 

Nothing, — only Eliza came in here, after dinner, in a 
great worry, crying and taking on, and said you were talk- 
ing with a trader, and that she heard him make an offer 
for her boy — the ridiculous little goose ! 

She did, hey ? said Mr. Shelby, returning to his 
paper, which he seemed for a few moments quite intent 
upon, not perceiving that he was holding it bottom up- 
wards. 

^^It will have to come out,^^ said he, mentally ; ^^as well 
now as ever.'’^ 

I told Eliza, said Mrs. Shelby, as she continued brush- 
ing her hair, that she was a little fool for her pains, and 
that you never had anything to do with that sort of persons. 
Of course, I knew you never meant to sell any of our 
people, — least of all, to such a fellow. 

Well, Emily, said her husband, so I have always 
felt and said ; but the fact is that my business lies so that 
I cannot get on without. I shall have to sell some of my 
hands. 

To that creature ? Impossible ! Mr. Shelby, you can- 
not be serious.'’^ 

^‘^Fm sorry to say that I am, said Mr. Shelby. ^^Fve 
agreed to sell Tom.^^ 

‘^What! our Tom? — that good, faithful creature !-r- 
been your faithful servant from a boy ! 0 Mr. Shelby ! 

— and you have promised him his freedom^ too, — you and 
I have spoken to him a hundred times of it. Well, I can 
believe anything now, — I can believe now that you could 
sell little Harry, poor Eliza^s only child ! said Mrs. Shelby, 
in a tone between grief and indignation. 

Well, since you must know all, it is so. I have agreed 


40 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


to sell Tom and Harry both ; and I donT know why I am 
to be rated, as if I were a monster, for doing what every 
one does every day/^ 

But why, of all others, choose these ? " said Mrs. Shelby. 
^^Why sell them, of all on the place, if you must sell at 
all?^^ 

Because they will bring the highest sum of any,— 
that^s why. I could choose another, if you say so. The 
fellow made me a high bid on Eliza, if that would suit you 
any better,'’^ said Mr. Shelby. 

The wretch ! said Mrs. Shelby, vehemently. 

Well, I didnT listen to it, a moment, — out of regard 
to your feelings, I wouldnT ; — so give me some credit. 

My dear,^'’ said Mrs. Shelby, recollecting herself, for- 
give me. I have been hasty. I was surprised, and en- 
tirely unprepared for this ; — but surely you will allow me 
to intercede for these poor creatures. Tom is a noble- 
hearted, faithful fellow, if he is black. I do believe, Mr. 
Shelby, that if he were put to it, he would lay down his 
life for you.” 

I know it, — I dare say ; — but what^s the use of all 
this ? — I canT help myself.” 

Why not make a pecuniary sacrifice ? Em willing to 
bear my part of the inconvenience. 0 Mr. Shelby, I have 
tired — tried most faithfully, as a Christian woman should 
— to do my duty to these poor, simple, dependent creatures. 
I have cared for them, instructed them, watched over 
them, and known all their little cares and joys, for years ; 
and how can I ever hold up my head again among them, 
if, for the sake of a little paltry gain, we sell such a faith- 
ful, excellent, confiding creature as poor Tom, and tear 
from him in a moment all we have taught him to love and 
value ? I have taught them the duties of the family, of 
parent and child, and husband and wife ; and how can I 
bear to have this open acknowledgment that we care for 
no tie, no duty, no relation, however sacred, compared 
with money ? I have talked with Eliza about her boy — 
her duty to him as a Christian mother, to watch over him, 
pray for him, and bring him up in a Christian way ; and 
now what can I say, if you tear him away, and sell him, 
soul and body, to a profane, unprincipled man, just to save 
a little money ? I have told her that one soul is worth 
more than all the money in the world ; and how will she 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 41 

believe me when she sees us turn round and sell her child ? 
— sell him, perhaps, to certain ruin of body and soul ! 

Fni sorry you feel so about it, Emily, — indeed I am,^’ 
said Mr. Shelby ; and I respect your feelings, too, though 
I don't pretend to share them to their full extent ; but I 
tell you now, solemnly, it's of no use — I can't help myself. 
I didn't mean to tell you this, Emily ; but, in plain words, 
there is no choice between selling these two and selling 
everything. Either they must go, or all must. Haley has 
come into possession of a mortgage, which, if I don't clear 
off with him directly, will take everything before it. I've 
raked, and scraped, and borrowed, and all but begged, — 
and the price of these two was needed to make up the bal- 
ance, and I had to give them up. Haley fancied the child ; 
he agreed to settle the matter that way, and no other. I 
was in his power, and had to do it. If you feel so to have 
them sold, would it be any better to have all sold ? " 

Mrs. Shelby stood like one stricken. Finally, turning to 
her toilet, she rested her face in her hands, and gave a sort 
of groan. 

^^This is God's curse on slavery ! — a bitter, bitter, most 
accursed thing ! — a curse to the master and a curse to the 
slave ! I was a fool to think I could make anything good 
out of such a deadly evil. It is a sin to hold a slave under 
laws like ours, — I always felt it was, — I always thought so 
when I was a girl, — I thought so still more after I Joined 
the church ; but I thought I could gild it over, — I thought 
by kindness, and care, and instruction, I could make the 
condition of mine better than freedom — fool that I was ! " 

^^Why, wife, you are getting to be an abolitionist, 
quite." 

Abolitionist ! if they knew all I know about slavery, 
they might talk ! We don't need them to tell us ; you 
know I never thought that slavery was right — never felt 
willing to own slaves." 

^^Well, therein you differ from many wise and pious 
men," said Mr. Shelby. You remember Mr. B.'s sermon, 
the other Sunday ? " 

I don't want to hear such sermons ; I never wish to 
hear Mr. B. in our church again. Ministers can't help the 
evil, perhaps, — can't cure it, any more than we can, — but 
defend it ! — it always went against my common sense. And 
I think you didn't think much of that sermon, either." 


42 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


Well/^ said Shelby, I must say these ministers some^ 
times carry matters further than we poor sinners would ex- 
actly dare to do. We men of the world must wink pretty 
hard at various things, and get used to a deal that isn^’t the 
exact thing. But we don^t quite fancy, when women and 
ministers come out broad and square, and go beyond us in 
matters of either modesty or morals, thak's a fact. But 
now, my dear, I trust you see the necessity of the thing, 
and you see that I have done the very best that circum- 
stances would allow. 

0 yes, yes ! said Mrs. Shelby, hurriedly and abstract- 
edly fingering her gold watch, — haven^’t any jewelry of 
any amount, she added, thoughtfully ; but would not 
this watch do something ? — it was an expensive one, when 
it was bought. If I could only at least save Eliza^s child, 
I would sacrifice anything I have.^^ 

I’m sorry, very sorry, Emily,” said Mr. Shelby, I’m 
sorry this takes hold of you so ; but it will do no good. 
The fact is, Emily, the thing’s done ; the bills of sale are 
already signed, and in Haley’s hands ; and you must be 
thankful it’s no worse. That man has had it in his power 
to ruin us all, — and now he is fairly ofi. If you knew 
the man as I do, you’d think that we had had a narrow 
escape.” 

Is he so hard, then ? ” 

Why, not a cruel man, exactly, but a man of leather, 
— a man alive to nothing but trade and profit, — cool, and 
unhesitating, and unrelenting, as death and the grave. 
He’d sell his own mother at a good percentage — not wish- 
ing the old woman any harm, either.” 

And this wretch owns that good, faithful Tom, and 
Eliza’s child ! ” 

Well, my dear, the fact is that this goes rather hard 
with me ! it’s a thing I hate to think of. Haley wants to 
drive matters, and take possession to-morrow. I’m going 
to get out my horse bright and early, and be off. I can’t 
see Tom, that’s a fact ; and you had better arrange a drive 
somewhere, and carry Eliza off. Let the thing be done 
when she is out of sight.” 

No, no,” said Mrs. Shelby ; I’ll be in no sense ac- 
complice or help in this cruel business. I’ll go and see 
poor old Tom, God help him, in his distress ! They shall 
see, at any rate, that their mistress can feel for and with 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


43 


them. As to Eliza, I dare not think about it. The Lord 
forgive us ! What have we done, that this cruel necessity 
should come on us ? 

There was one listener to this conversation whom Mr. and 
Mrs. Shelby little suspected. 

Communicating with their apartment was a large closet, 
opening by a door into the outer passage. When Mrs. 
Shelby had dismissed Eliza for the night, her feverish and 
excited mind had suggested the idea of this closet ; and she 
had hidden herself there, and, with her ear pressed close 
against the crack of the door, had lost not a word of the 
conversation. 

When the voices died into silence, she rose and crept 
stealthily away. Pale, shivering, with rigid features and 
compressed lips, she looked an entirely altered being from 
the soft and timid creature she had been hitherto. She 
moved cautiously along the entry, paused one moment at 
her mistress'’ door, and raised her hands in mute appeal to 
Heaven, and then turned and glided into her own room. 
It was a quiet, neat apartment, on the same floor with her 
mistress. There was the pleasant sunny window, where 
she had often sat singing at her sewing ; there a little case 
of books, and various little fancy articles, ranged by them, 
the gifts of Christmas holidays ; there was her simple ward- 
robe in the closet and in the drawers : — here was, in short, 
her home ; and, on the whole, a happy one it had been to 
her. But there, on the bed, lay her slumbering boy, his 
long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, 
his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out 
over the bedclothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over 
his whole face. 

Poor boy ! poor fellow ! ” said Eliza ; they have sold 
you ! but your mother will save you yet ! 

No tear dropped over that pillow ; in such straits as these, 
the heart has no tears to give, — it drops only blood, bleed- 
ing itself away in silence. She took a piece of paper and a 
pencil, and wrote, hastily, 

0 Missis ! dear Missis ! donT think me ungrateful, — 
donT think hard of me, any way,^ — I heard all you and 
master said to-night. I am going to try to save my boy — 
you will not blame me ! Cod bless and reward you for all 
your kindness ! 

Hastily folding and directing this, she went to a drawer 


44 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


and made up a little package of clothing for her boj; 
which she tied with a handkerchief firmly round hex 
waist ; and, so fond is a mother^s remembrance, that, even 
in the terrors of that hour, she did not forget to put in 
the little package one or two of his favorite toys, reserving 
a gayly painted parrot to amuse him, when she should be 
called on to awaken him. It was some trouble to arouse 
the little sleeper ; but, after some effort, he sat up, and 
was playing with his bird, while his mother was putting on 
her bonnet and shawl. 

Where are you going, mother ? said he, as she drew 
near the bed, with his little coat and cap. 

His mother drew near, and looked so earnestly into his 
eyes, that he at once divined that something unusual was 
the matter. 

Hush, Harry, she said ; musWt speak loud, or they 
will hear us. A wicked man was coming to take little 
Harry away from his mother, and carry him Vay off in the 
dark ; but mother won^t let him-— she’s going to put on her 
little boy’s cap and coat and run off with him, so the ugly 
man can’t catch him.” 

Saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the 
child’s simple outfit, and, taking him in her arms, she 
whispered to him to be very still ; and, opening a door in 
her room which led into the outer verandah, she glided 
noiselessly out. 

It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother 
wrapped the shawl close round her child, as, perfectly quiet 
with vague terror, he clung round her neck. 

Old Bruno, a great Newfoundland, who slept at the end 
of the porch, rose, with a low growl, as she came near. 
She gently spoke his name, and the animal, an old pet 
and playmate of hers, instantly, wagging his tail, prepared 
to follow her, though apparently revolving much, in his 
simple dog’s head, what such an indiscreet midnight prom- 
enade might mean. Some dim ideas of imprudence or 
impropriety in the measure seemed to embarrass him con- 
siderably ; for he often stopped, as Eliza glided forward, 
and looked wistfully, first at her and then at the house, 
and then, as if reassured by refiection, he pattered along 
after her again. A few minutes brought them to the win- 
dow of Uncle Tom’s cottage, and Eliza, stopping, tapped 
lightly on the window-pane. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


45 


The prayer-meeting at Uncle Tom^s had, in the order of 
hymn-singing, been protracted to a very late hour ; and, 
as Uncle Tom had indulged himself in a few lengthy solos 
afterwards, the consequence was, that, although it was now 
between twelve and one o^clock, he and his worthy help- 
meet were not yet asleep. 

Good Lord ! whaLs that said Aunt Chloe, starting 
up and hastily drawing the curtain. My sakes alive, if 
it anT '’Lizy ! Get on your clothes, old man, quick !— 
there^s old Bruno, too, a-pawin^ round ; what on airth ! Urn 
gwine to open the door."’"’ 

And, suiting the action to the word, the door flew open, 
aud the light of the tallow candle, which Tom had hastily 
lighted, fell on the haggard face and dark, wild eyes of the 
fugitive. 

Lord bless you ! — Fm skeered to look at ye, '’Lizy I 
Are ye tuck sick, or whaFs come over ye ? 

^‘^Fm running away — Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe — 
carrying off my child — Master sold him ! 

Sold him echoed both, lifting up their hands in 
dismay. 

Yes, sold him !” said Eliza, flrmly ; I crept into the 
closet by Mistress^ door to-night, and I heard Master tell 
Missis that he had sold my Harry, and you. Uncle Tom, 
both, to a trader ; and that he was going off this morning 
on his horse, and that the man was to take possession to- 
day.^^ 

Tom had stood, during this speech, with his hands 
raised, and his eyes dilated, like a man in a dream. Slowly 
and gradually, as its meaning came over him, he collapsed, 
rather than seated himself, on his old chair, and sunk his 
head down upon his knees. 

The good Lord have pity on us said Aunt Chloe. 

0 ! it donT seem as if it was true ! What has he done, 
that Mash should sell him 9 ” 

‘‘ He hasnh done anything, — it isnT for that. Master 
donh want to sell ; and Missis — sheh always good. I heard 
her plead and beg for us ; but he told her Twas no use ; 
that he was in this manh debt, and that this man had got 
the power over him ; and that if he didnT pay him off 
dear, it would end in his having to sell the place and all 
the people, and move off. Yes, I heard him say there was 
no choice between selling these two and selling all, the 


46 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


man was driving him so hard. Master said he was sorry ; 
but oh. Missis — ^you ought to have heard her talk ! If she 
an^t a Christian and an angel, there never was one. I^m 
a wicked girl to leave her so ; but, then, I can^t help it. 
She said, herself, one soul was worth more than the world ; 
and this boy has a soul, and if I let him be carried off, who 
knows what’ll become of it ? It must be right : but, if it 
an’t right, the Lord forgive me, for I can’t help doing it ! ” 

Well, old man ! ” said Aunt Ohloe, why don’t you go, 
too ? Will you wait to be toted down river, where they kill 
niggers with hard work and starving ? I’d a heap rather 
die than go there, any day ! There’s time for ye, — be off 
with ’Lizy, — you’ve got a pass to come an,d go any time. 
Come, bustle up, and I’ll get your things together.” 

Tom slowly raised his head, and looked sorrowfully but 
quietly around, and said, 

No, no — I an’t going. Let Eliza go — it’s her right ! 
I wouldn’t be the one to say no — ’tan’t in natur for her to 
stay ; but you heard what she said ! If I must be sold, or 
all the people on the place, and everything go to rack, why, 
let me be sold. I s’pose I can b’ar it as well as any on ’em,” 
he added, while something like a sob and a sigh shook his 
broad, rough chest convulsively. Mas’r always found 
me on the spot — he always will. I never have broke trust, 
nor used my pass no ways contrary to my word, and I never 
will. It’s better for me alone to go, than to break up the 
place and sell all. Mas’r ain’t to blame, Chloe, and he’ll 
take care of you and the poor 

Here he turned to the rough trundle-bed full of little 
woolly heads, and broke fairly down. He leaned over the 
back of the chair, and covered his face with his large hands. 
Sobs, heavy, hoarse, and loud, shook the chair, and great 
tears fell through his fingers on the fioor : just such tears, 
sir, as you dropped into the coffin where lay your first-born 
son ; such tears, woman, as you shed when you heard the 
cries of your dying babe. For, sir, he was a man, — and you 
are but another man. And, woman, though dressed in silk 
and jewels, you are but a woman, and, in life’s great straits 
and mighty griefs, ye feel but one sorrow ! 

And now,” said Eliza, as she stood in the door, I saw 
my husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then 
what was to come. They have pushed him to the very 
last standing-place, and he told me, to-day, that hf was 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


47 


going to rnn away. Do try, if you can, to get word to him. 
Tell him how I went, and why I went ; and tell him I^m 
going to try and find Canada. You must give my love to 
him, and tell him, if I never see him again, — she turned 
away, and stood with her hack to them for a moment, and 
then added, in a husky voice, tell him to be as good as 
he can, and try and meet me in the kingdom of heaven.” 

^ Call Bruno in there,” she added. Shut the door on 
him, poor beast ! He mustnT go with me ! ” 

A few last words and tears, a few simple adieus and 
blessings, and, clasping her wondering and affrighted child 
in her arms, she glided noiselessly away. 


CHAPTER VI. 

DISCOVEEY. 

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, after their protracted discussion 
of the night before, did not readily sink to repose, and, in 
consequence, slept somewhat later than usual the ensuing 
morning. 

I wonder what keeps Eliza,” said Mrs. Shelby, after 
giving her bell repeated pulls, to no purpose. 

Mr. Shelby was standing before his dressing-glass, 
sharpening his razor ; and just then the door opened, and 
a colored boy entered, with his shaving- water. 

Andy,” said his mistress, ‘^^step to Eliza^s door, and 
tell her I have rung for her three times. Poor thing ! ” 
she added, to herself, with a sigh. 

Andy soon returned, with eyes very wide in astonish- 
ment. 

Lor, Missis ! Lizy^s drawers is all open, and her 
things all lying every which way ; and I believe she^s just 
done dared out ! ” 

The truth fiashed upon Mr. Shelby and his wife at the 
same moment. He exclaimed : 

Then she suspected it, and she^s off ! ” 

The Lord be thanked !” said Mrs. Shelby. I trust 
she is.” 

Wife, you talk like a fool ! Really, it will be some- 
thing pretty awkward for me, if she is. Haley saw that I 


48 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


hesitated about selling this child, and he^ll think I con^ 
nived at it, to get him out of the way. It touches my 
honor ! And Mr. Shelby left the room hastily. 

There was great running and ejaculating, and opening 
and shutting of doors, and appearance of faces in all 
shades of color in different places, for about a quarter of 
an hour. One person only, who might have shed some 
light on the matter, was entirely silent, and that was the 
head cook. Aunt Chloe. Silently, and with a heavy cloud 
settled down over her once joyous face, she proceeded 
making out her breakfast biscuits, as if she heard and saw 
nothing of the excitement around her. 

Very soon, about a dozen young imps were roosting, 
like so many crows, on the verandah railings, each one de- 
termined to be the first one to apprize the strange MasT 
of his ill-luck. 

‘^Hefil be rael mad. Til be bound,” said Andy. 

Won’t he swar ! ” said little black Jake. 

Yes, for he does swar,” said woolly-headed Mandy. 

I hearn him yesterday, at dinner. I hearn all about it 
then, ^cause I got into the closet where Missis keeps the 
great jugs, and I hearn every word.” And Mandy, who 
had never in her life thought of the meaning of a word she 
had heard, more than a black cat, now took airs of superior 
wisdom, and strutted about, forgetting to state that, though 
actually coiled up among the jugs at the time specified, 
she had been fast asleep all the time. 

When, at last, Haley appeared, booted and spurred, he 
was saluted with the bad tidings on every hand. The 
young imps on the verandah were not disappointed in 
their hope of hearing him ^^swar,” which he did with a 
fluency and fervency which delighted them all amazingly, 
as they ducked and dodged hither and thither, to be out of 
the reach of his riding- whip ; and, all whooping off to- 
gether, they tumbled, in a pile of immeasurable giggle, on 
the withered turf under the verandah, where they kicked 
up their heels and shouted to their full satisfaction. 

^ If I had the little devils ! ” muttered Haley, between 
his teeth. 

But you haVt got ^em, though ! ” said Andy, with a 
triumphant flourish, and making a string of indescribable 
mouths at the unfortunate trader^s back, when he was 
fairly beyond hearing. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


49 


I say now, Shelby, this yer^s a most extro^mary busi- 
ness ! said Haley, as he abruptly entered the parlor. It 
seems that gabs off, with her young ^un.^^ 

Mr. Haley, Mrs. Shelby is present, said Mr. Shelby, 
beg pardon, ma^am,^^ said Haley, bowing slightly, 
with a still lowering brow ; but still I say, as I said 
before, this yer^s a singular report. Is it true, sir V* 

Sir,” said Mr. Shelby, ^‘^if you wish to communicate 
with me, you must observe something of the decorum of a 
gentleman. Andy, take Mr. Haley^s hat and riding-whip. 
Take a seat, sir. Yes, sir ; I regret to say that the young 
woman, excited by overhearing, or having reported to her, 
something of this business, has taken her child in the night, 
and made off,” 

I did expect fair dealing in this matter, I confess,” 
said Haley. 

^^Well, sir,” said Mr. Shelby, turning sharply round 
upon him, ^‘^what am I to understand % that remark : 
If any man calls my honor in question, I have hut one 
answer for him.” 

The trader cowered at this, and in a somewhat lower 
tone said that It was plaguy hard on a fellow that had 
made a fair bargain, to be gulled that way.” 

^^Mr. Haley,” said Mr. Shelby, “if I did not think yon 
had some cause for disappointment, I should not have 
borne from you the rude and unceremonious style of your 
entrance into my parlor this morning. I say thus much, 
however, since appearances call for it, that I shall allow of. 
no insinuations cast upon me, as if I were at all partner to 
any unfairness in this matter. Moreover I shall feel bound 
to give you every assistance, in the use of horses, servants, 
etc., in the recovery of your property. So, in short, Haley,” 
said he, suddenly dropping from the tone of dignified cool- 
ness to his ordinary one of easy frankness, “the best way 
for you is to keep good-natured and eat some breakfast, 
and we will then see what is to be done.” 

Mrs. Shelby now rose, and said her engagements would 
prevent her being at the breakfast-table that morning ; 
and, deputing a very respectable mulatto woman to attend to 
the gentlemen^s coffee at the side-hoard, she left the room. 

“ Old lady donT like your humble servant, over and 
above,” said Haley, with an uneasy effort to be very 
familiar. 

4 


50 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


I am not accustomed to hear my wife spoken of with 
such freedom/' said Mr. Shelby, dryly. 

Beg pardon ; of course, only a joke, you know," said 
Haley, forcing a laugh. 

Some jokes are less agreeable than others," rejoined 
Shelby. 

Devilish free, now Fve signed those papers, cuss him ! " 
muttered Haley to himself ; quite grand, since yester- 
day!" 

Never did fall of any prime minister at court occasion 
wider surges of sensation than the report of Tom's fate 
among his compeers on the place. It was the topic in 
every mouth, everywhere ; and nothing was done in the 
house or in the field, but to discuss its probable results. 
Eliza's flight — an unprecedented event on the place — was 
also a great accessory in stimulating the general excite- 
ment. 

Black Sam, as he was commonly called, from his being 
about three shades blacker than any other son of ebony 
on the place, was revolving the matter profoundly in all 
its phases and bearings, with a comprehensiveness of vis- 
ion and a strict lookout to his own personal well-hein^, 
that would have done credit to any white patriot in 
Washington. 

It's an ill wind dat blows nowhar, — dat ar a fact," said 
Sam, sententiously, giving an additional hoist to his panta- 
loons, and adroitly substituting a long nail in place of a 
missing suspender-button, with which effort of mechanical 
genius he seemed highly delighted. 

Yes, it's an ill wind blows nowhar," he repeated. 

Now, dar, Tom's down — wal, course der's room for some 
nigger to be up — and why not dis nigger ? — dat's de idee. 
Tom, a-ridin' round de country — boots blacked — pass in 
his pocket — all grand as Cuffee — who hut he ? Now, why 
shouldn't Sam ? — dat's what I want to know." 

Halloo, Sam — 0 Sam I Mas'r wants you to cofcch Bill 
and Jerry," said Andy, cutting short Sam's soliloquy. 

High ! what's afoot now, young un ? " 

^^Why, you don't know, I s'pose, that 'Lizy's cut stick, 
and dared out, with her young’un ? " 

You teach your granny ! " said Sam, with infinite con- 
tempt ; knowed it a heap sight sooner than you did ; 
this nigger an't so green, now I " 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


51 


''Well, anyhow, Mas’r wants Bill and Jerry geared right 
up ; and you and I"s to go with Mas^r Haley, to look arter 
her." 

" Good, now ! dat^s de time o^ day ! ” said Sam. " It’s 
Sam dat’s called for in dese yer times. He’s de nigger. 
See if I don’t cotch her, now ; MasVll see what Sam can 
do!" 

" Ah I hut, Sam," said Andy, " you’d better think twice ; 
for Missis don’t want her cotched, and she’ll he in yer 
wool." 

" High ! " said Sam, opening his eyes. " How you know 
dat ?" 

" Heard her say so, my own self, dis blessed mornin,’ 
when I bring in Mas’r’s shaving- water. She sent me to 
see why ’Lizy didn’t come to dress her ; and when I telled 
her she was off, she jest ris up, and ses she, ' The Lord be 
praised;’ and Mas’r, he seemed rael mad, and ses he, 
' Wife, you talk like a fool.’ But Lor I she’ll bring him 
to 1 I knows well enough how that’ll be, — it’s allers best 
to stand Missis’ side the fence, now I tell yer." 

Black Sam, upon this, scratched his woolly pate, which, 
if it did not contain very profound wisdom, still contained 
a great deal of a particular species much in demand among 
politicians of all complexions and countries, and vulgarly 
denominated " knowing which side the bread is buttered ; " 
so, stopping with grave consideration, he again gave a 
hitch to his pantaloons, which was his regularly organized 
method of assisting his mental perplexities. 

" Her an’t no sayin’ — never — ’bout no kind o’ thing in 
dis yer world," he said at last. 

Sam spoke like a philosopher, emphasizing this — as if he 
had had a large experience in different sorts of worlds, and 
therefore had come to his conclusions advisedly. 

"Now, sartin I’d a-said that Missis would a-scoured the 
’varsal world after ’Lizy," added Sam, thoughtfully. 

"So she would," said Andy ; " but can’t ye see through 
a ladder, ye black nigger ? Missis don’t want dis yer Mas’r 
Haley to get ’Lizy’s boy ; dat’s de go I ’’ 

" High 1 ’’ said Sam, with an indescribable intonation, 
known only to those who have heard it among the ne- 
groes. 

"And I’ll tell yer more’n all," said Andy; "I specs 
you’d better be making tracks for dem bosses, — mighty 


52 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


Budden, too, — for I hearn Missis ^quirin^ arter yer,— -sc 
you’ve stood foolin’ long enough.” 

Sam, upon this, began to bestir himself in real earnest, 
and after a while appeared, bearing down gloriously to- 
wards the house, with Bill and Jerry in a full canter, and 
adroitly throwing himself off before they had any idea of 
stopping, he brought them up alongside of the horse-post 
like a tornado. Haley’s horse, which was a skittish young 
colt, winced, and bounced, and pulled hard at his halter. 

‘^‘^Ho, ho !” said Sam, ^^skeery, ar ye ?” and his black 
visage lighted up with a curious, mischievous gleam. 

I’ll fix ye now ! ” said he. 

There was a large heech-tree overshadowing the place, 
and the small, sharp, triangular beech-nuts lay scattered 
thickly on the ground. With one of these in his fingers, 
Sam approached the colt, stroked and patted, and seemed 
apparently busy in soothing his agitation. On pretence 
of adjusting the saddle, he adroitly slipped under it the 
sharp little nut, in such a manner that the least weight 
brought upon the saddle would annoy the nervous sensibil- 
ities of the animal, without leaving any perceptible graze 
or wound. 

Dar ! ” he said, rolling his eyes with an approving 
grin ; me fix ’em 1 ” 

At this moment Mrs. Shelby appeared on the balcony, 
beckoning to him. Sam approached with as good a de- 
termination to pay court as did ever suitor after a vacant 
place at St. James’s or Washington. 

Why have you been loitering so, Sam ? I sent Andy 
to tell you to hurry.” 

Lord bless you. Missis!” said Sam, horses won’t be 
cotched all in a minit ; they’d done dared out way down 
to the south pasture, and the Lord knows whar ! ” 

Sam, how often must I tell you not to say ^ Lord bless 
you, and the Lord knows,’ and such things ? It’s wicked.” 

0 Lord bless my soul I I done forgot. Missis I I 
won’t say nothing of de sort no more.” 

Why, Sam, you just have said it again.” 

Did I ? 0 Lord ! I mean — I didn’t go for to sav 

it.” 

You must be careful, Sam.” 

Just let me get my Ijreath, Missis, and I’ll start fair. 
I’ll be berry careful.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


5S 


'^Well, Sam, yon are to go with Mr. Haley, to show him 
the road, and help him. Be careful of the horses, Sam ; 
you know Jerry was a little lame last week ; don’^ ride 
th( 



words with a low voice, and 


strong emphasis. 

Let dis child alone for dat ! ” said Sam, rolling up his 
eyes with a volume of meaning. Lord knows ! High ! 
Didn^’t say dat ! said he, suddenly catching his breath, 
with a ludicrous flourish of apprehension, which made his 
mistress laugh, spite of herself. ‘'‘^Yes, Missis, Til look 
out for de bosses 

Now, Andy,^’ said Sam, returning to his stand under 
the beech-trees, ^^you see I wouldn^’t be ^tall surprised if 
dat ar gentleman’s crittur should gib a fling, by and by, 
when he comes to be a gettin’ up. You know, Andy, 
critturs will do such things ; ” and therewith Sam poked 
Andy in the side, in a highly suggestive manner. 

High ! ” said Andy, with an air of instant apprecia- 
tion. 

Yes, you see, Andy, Missis wants to make time, — dat 
ar’s clar to der most or’nary ’bserver. I jis make a little 
for her. Now, you see, get all dese yer bosses loose, ca- 
perin’ permiscus round dis yer lot and down to de wood dar, 
and I spec Mas’r won’t be off in a hurry.” 

Andy grinned. 

Yer see,” said Sam, ^‘^yer see, Andy, if any such thing 
should happen as that Mas’r Haley’s horse should begin to 
act contrary, and cut up, you and I jist lets go of our’n 
to help him, and we'll help him — oh yes !” And Sam and 
Andy laid their heads back on their shoulders, and broke 
into a low, immoderate laugh, snapping their fingers and 
flourishing their heels with exquisite delight. 

At this instant, Haley appeared on the verandah. Some- 
what mollified by certain cups of very good coffee he came 
out smiling and talking, in tolerably restored humor. 
Sam and Andy, clawing for certain fragmentary palm- 
leaves, which they were in the habit of considering as hats, 
flew to the horse-posts to be ready to help Mas’r.” 

Sam’s palm-leaf had been ingeniously disentangled from 
all pretensions to braid, as respected its brim ; and the 
slivers starting apart, and standing upright, gave it a blaz- 
ing air of freedom and defiance, quite equal to that of any 


54 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


Fejee chief ; while the whole brim of Andy^s being de- 
parted bodily, he rapped the crown on his head with a 
dexterous thump, and looked about well pleased, as if to 
say, Who says I haven^t got a hat ?” 

^‘'Well, boys,” said Haley, ^"look alive now; we must 
lose no time.” 

Not a bit of him, MasV ! ” said Sam, putting Haley^s 
rein in his hand, and holding his stirrup, while Andy was 
untying the other two horses. 

The instant Haley touched the saddle, the mettlesome 
creature bounded from the earth with a sudden spring, 
that threw his master sprawling, some feet off, on the soft, 
dry turf. Sam, with frantic ejaculations, made a dive at 
the reins, but only succeeded in brushing the blazing palm- 
leaf aforenamed into the horse’s eyes, which by no means 
tended to allay the confusion of his nerves. So, with great 
vehemence, he overturned Sam, and, giving two or three 
contemntuous snorts, flourished his heels vigorously in the 
air, and was soon prancing away towards the lower end of 
the lawn, followed by Bill and Jerry, whom Andy had not 
failed to let loose, according to contract, speeding them off 
with various direful ejaculations. And now ensued a mis- 
cellaneous scene of confusion. Sam and Andy ran and 
shouted, — dogs barked here and there, — and Mike, Mose, 
Mandy, Fanny, and all the smaller specimens on the place, 
both male and female, raced, clapped hands, whooped, 
and shouted, with outrageous officiousness and untiring 
zeal. 

Haley’s horse, which was a white one, and very fleet and 
spirited, appeared to enter into the spirit of the scene with 
great gusto ; and having for his coursing ground a lawn of 
nearly half a mile in extent, gently sloping down on every 
side into indeflnite woodland, he appeared to take inflnite 
delight in seeing how near he could allow his pursuers to 
approach him, and then, when within a hand’s breadth, 
whisk off with a start and a snort, like a mischievous beast 
as he was, and career far down into some alley of the wood- 
lot. Nothing was further from Sam’s mind than to have 
any one of the troop taken until such season as should 
seem to him most befitting, — and the exertions that he 
made were certainly most heroic. Like the sword of Coeur 
de Lion, which always blazed in the front and thickest of 
the battle, Sam’s palm-leaf was to be seen everywhere 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


55 


when there was the least danger that a horse could he 
caught; — there he would bear down full tilt, shouting, 
‘^Now for it ! cotch him ! cotch him ! '’Mn a way that 
would set everything to indiscriminate rout in a moment. 

Haley ran up and down, and cursed and swore and 
stamped miscellaneously. Mr. Shelby in vain tried to 
shout directions from the balcony, and Mrs. Shelby from 
her chamber window alternately laughed and wondered, — 
not without some inkling of what lay at the bottom of all 
this confusion. 

At last, about twelve o^clock, Sam appeared triumphant, 
mounted on Jerry, with Haley ^s horse by his side, reeking 
with sweat, but with flashing eyes and dilated nostrils, 
showing that the spirit of freedom had not yet entirely 
subsided. 

^^He^’s cotched!^^ he exclaimed, triumphantly. Ift 
hadn^t been for me, they might a-bust theirselves, all on 
^em ; but I cotched him ! ” 

“You growled Haley, in no amiable mood. “If it 
hadn^’t been for you, this never would have happened. 

“ Lord bless us, Mas^r,"’"’ said Sam, in a tone of the deep- 
est concern, “ and me that has been racin^ and chasin'* till 
the sweat jest pours off me ! 

“Well, well I” said Haley, “youVe lost me near three 
hours, with your cursed nonsense. Now let^s be ofl, and 
have no more fooling. 

“ Why, Mas^r,^^ said Sam, in a deprecating tone, “ I 
believe you mean to kill us all clar, horses and all. Here 
we are all just ready to drop down, and the critters all in 
a reek of sweat. Why, Mas"r won’t think of startin’ on 
now till arter dinner. Mas’r’s hoss wants rubben down ; 
see how he splashed hisself ; and Jerry limps too ; don’t 
think Missis would be willin’ to have us start dis yer way, 
nohow. Lord bless you, Mas’r, we can ketch up, if we do 
stop. Hjizy never was no great of a walker.” 

Mrs. Shelby, who, greatly to her amusement, had over- 
heard this conversation from the verandah, now resolved 
to do her part. She came forward, and, courteously ex- 
pressing her concern for Haley’s accident, pressed him to 
stay to dinner, saying that the cook should bring it on the 
table immediately. 

Thus, all things considered, Haley, with rather an 
equivocal grace, proceeded to the parlor, while Sam, roll- 


56 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


ing his eyes after him with unutterable meaning, proceeded 
gravely with the horses to the stable-yard. 

Did yer see him, Andy ? did yer see him ? " said Sam, 
when he had got fairly beyond the shelter of the barn, and 
fastened the horse to the post. 0 Lor, if it warn^t as 
good as a meeting now, to see him a-dancin^ and kickin^ 
and swarin^ at us. Didn^’t I hear him ? Swar away, ole 
fellow (says I to myself) ; will yer have yer hoss now, or 
wait till you cotch him ? (says I). Lor, Andy, I think I 
can see him now.^^ And Sam and Andy leaned up against 
the barn, and laughed to their hearts^ content. 

Yer oughter seen how mad he looked when I brought 
the hoss up. Lord, he^d a-killed me if he durs’ to ; and 
there I was a-standin^ as innercent and as humble.” 

Lor, I seed you,” said Andy ; an’t you an old hoss, 
Sam ? ” 

^^Eather specks I am,” said Sam ; ^‘^did yer see Missis 
upstairs at the winder ? I seed her ^aughin^” 

Tm sure, I was racin^ so, I didn^’t see nothing” said 



Well, yer see,” said Sam, proceeding gravely to wash 
down Haley^s pony, Lse Squired what yer may call a 
habit o'’ bobservation, Andy. It^s a very ^portant habit, 
Andy ; and I Yommend yer to be cultivating it, now yer 
young. Hist up that hind foot, Andy. Yer see, Andy, 
it^s bobservation makes all de difference in niggers. Didn^’t 
I see which way the wind blew dis yer mornin^ ? Didn^t I 
see what Missis wanted, though she never let on ? Dat ar^s 
bobservation, Andy. I '’spects it^s what you may call a 
faculty. Faculties is different in different peoples, but 
cultivation of ^em goes a great way.” 

guess if I hadn’t helped your bobservation dis morn- 
in’ yer wouldn’t have seen your way so smart,” said Andy. 

Andy,” said Sam, you’s a promisin’ child, der an’t 
no manner o’ doubt. I thinks lots of yer, Andy ; and I 
don’t feel no ways ashamed to take idees from you. We 
oughtenter overlook nobody, Andy, cause the smartest on 
us gets tripped up sometimes. And so, Andy, let’s go up 
to the house now. I’ll be boun’ Missis’ll give us an un- 
common good bite, dis yer time.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


57 


CHAPTEE VII. 

THE MOTHER^S STRUGGLE. 

It is impossible to conceive of a human creature more 
wholly desolate and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned 
her footsteps from Uncle Tom^s cabin. 

Her husband^s suffering and dangers, and the danger of 
her child, all blended in her mind, with a confused and 
stunning sense of the risk she was running, in leaving the 
only home she had ever known, and cutting loose from the 
protection of a friend whom she loved and revered. Then 
there was the parting from every familiar object, — the 
place where she had grown up, the trees under which she 
had played, the groves where she had walked many an 
evening in happier days, by the side of her young husband, 
— everything, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight, seemed 
to speak reproachfully to her, and ask her whither could 
she go from a home like that ? 

But stronger than all was maternal love, wrought into a 
paroxysm of frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger. 
Her boy was old enough to have walked by her side, and, 
in an indifferent case, she would only have led him by the 
hand ; but now the bare thought of putting him out of her 
arms made her shudder, and she strained him to her bosom 
with a convulsive grasp, as she went rapidly forward. 

The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she 
trembled at the sound ; every quaking leaf and fluttering 
shadow sent the blood backward to her heart, and quick- 
ened her footsteps. She wondered within herself at the 
strength that seemed to be come upon her ; for she felt the 
weight of her boy as if it had been a feather, and ^ivery 
flutter of fear seemed to increase the supernatural power 
that bore her on, while from her pale lips burst forth, in 
frequent ejaculations, the prayer to a Friend above — 

Lord, help ! Lord, save me ! 

If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were 
going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow 
morning, — if you had seen the man, and heard that the 
papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from 


5 ? 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


twelve o^clock till morning to make good your escape, — how 
fast could you walk ? How many miles could you make in 
those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom, — the 
little sleepy head on your shoulder, — the small, soft arms 
trustingly holding on to your neck ? 

For the child slept. At first, the novelty and alarm kept 
him waking ; but his mother so hurriedly repressed every 
breath or sound, and so assured him that if he were only 
still she would certainly save him, that he clung (j[uietly 
round her neck, only asking, as he found himself sinking 
to sleep. 

Mother, I don^t need to keep awake, do I ?” 

^^No, my darling ; sleep, if you want to.^^ 

But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won^t let him get 
me ? ” 

No ! so may God help me ! said his mother, with a 
paler cheek, and a brighter light in her large, dark eyes. 

You^re sure, an’t you, mother ? 

Yes, sure!” said the mother, in a voice that startled 
herself ; for it seemed to her to come from a spirit within, 
that was no part of her ; and the boy dropped his little, 
weary head on her shoulder, and was soon asleep. How 
the touch of those warm arms, the gentle breathings that 
came in her neck, seemed to add fire and spirit to her move- 
ments ! It seemed to her as if strength poured into her in 
electric streams, from every gentle touch and movement of 
the sleeping, confiding child. Sublime is the dominion of 
the mind over the body, that, for a time, can make fiesh 
and nerve impregnable, and string the sinews like steel, so 
that the weak become so mighty. 

The boundaries of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, 
passed by her dizzily, as she walked on ; and still she went, 
leaving one familiar object after another, slacking not, 
pausing not, till reddening daylight found her many a long 
mile from all traces of any familiar objects upon the open 
highway. 

She had often been, with her mistress, to visit some con- 
nections, in the little village of T , not far from the 

Ohio Eiver, and knew the road well. To go thither, to 
escape across the Ohio Eiver, were the first hurried outlines 
of her plan of escape ; beyond that, she could only hope in 
God. 

When horses and vehicles began to move along the high- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


69 


way, with that alert perception peculiar to a state of ex- 
citement, and which seems to be a sort of inspiration, she 
became aware that her headlong pace and distracted air 
might bring on her remaik and suspicion. She therefore 
put the boy on the ground, and adjusting her dress and 
bonnet, she walked on at as rapid a pace as she thought 
consistent with the preservation of appearances. In her 
little bundle she had provided a store of cakes and apples, 
which she used as expedients for quickening the speed of 
the child, rolling the apple some yards before them, when 
the boy would run with all his might after it ; and this 
ruse, often repeated, carried them over many a half-mile. 

After a while they came to a thick patch of woodland, 
through which murmured a clear brook. As the child 
complained of hunger and thirst, she climbed over the 
fence with him ; and, sitting down behind a large rock which 
concealed them from the road, she gave him a breakfast 
out of her little package. The boy wondered and grieved 
that she could not eat ; and when, putting his arms round 
her neck, he tried to wedge some of his cake into her 
mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat would 
choke her. 

^^No, no, Harry darling ! mother canT eat till you are 
safe ! We must go on — on — till we come to the river 
And she hurried again into the road, and again constrained 
herself to walk regularly and composedly forward. 

She was many miles past any neighborhood where she 
was personally known. If she should chance to meet any 
who knew her, she reflected that the well-known kindness 
of the family would be of itself a blind to suspicion, as 
making it an unlikely supposition that she could be a fugi- 
tive. As she was also so white as not to be known as of 
colored lineage, without a critical survey, and her child 
was white also, it was much easier for her to pass on un- 
suspected. 

On this presumption, she stopped at noon at a neat farm- 
nouse, to rest nerself, and buy some dinner for her child 
and self ; for, as the danger decreased with the distance, 
the supernatural tension of the nervous system lessened, 
and she found herself both weary and hungry. 

The good woman, kindly and gossiping, seemed rather 
pleased than otherwise with having somebody come in to talk 
with ; and accepted, without examination, Eliza^s state- 


60 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


ment, that she was going on a little piece, to spend a 
week with her friends/'’ — all which she hoped in her heart 
might prove strictly true. 

An hour before sunset, she entered the village of T , 

by the Ohio Eiver, weary and foot-sore, but still strong in 
heart. Her first glance was at the river, which lay, like 
Jordan, between her and the Canaan of liberty on the 
other side. 

It was now early spring, and the river was swollen and 
turbulent ; great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily 
to and fro in the turbid waters. Owing to the peculiar 
form of the shore on the Kentucky side, the land bending 
far out into the water, the ice had been lodged and detained 
in great quantities, and the narrow channel which swept 
round the bend was full of ice, piled one cake over another, 
thus forming a temporary barrier to the descending ice, 
which lodged, and formed a great, undulating raft, filling up 
the whole river, and extending almost to the Kentucky shore. 

Eliza stood, for a moment, contemplating this unfavor- 
able aspect of things, which she saw at once must prevent 
the usual ferry-boat from running, and then turned into a 
small public house on the bank, to make a few inquiries. 

The hostess, who was busy in various fizzing and stewing 
operations over the fire, preparatory to the evening meal, 
stopped, with a fork in her hand, as Eliza^s sweet and 
plaintive voice arrested her. 

What is it ? she said. 

IsnT there any ferry or boat, that takes people over to 
B , now ? she said. 

No, indeed ! said the woman ; the boats has stopped 
running.” 

Eliza’s look of dismay and disappointment struck the 
woman, and she said, inquiringly. 

May be you’re wanting to get over ? — anybody sick ? 
Ye seem mighty anxious ? ” 

^^I’ve got a child that’s very dangerous,” said Eliza. 

I never heard of it till last night, and I’ve walked quite 
a piece to-day, in hopes to get to the ferry.” 

‘^MYell, now, that’s onlucky,” said the woman, whose 
motherly sympathies were much aroused ; I’m re’lly 
consarned for ye. Solomon ! ” she called, from the window, 
towards a small back building. A man, in leather apron 
and very dirty hands, appeared at the door. 


LIFE AMONG TEE LOWLY, 61 

I say, Sol,” said the woman, is that ar man going to 
tote them bar^ls over to-night.” 

He said he should try, if ^twas any way prudent,” said 
the man. 

There^s a man a piece down here, that’s going over 
with some truck this evening, if he dur^s to ; he^ll be in 
here to supper to-night, so youM better set down and wait. 
That’s a sweet little fellow,” added the woman, offering 
him a cake. 

But the child, wholly exhausted, cried with weariness. 

Poor fellow ! he isn’t used to walking, and I’ve hurried 
him on so,” said Eliza. 

Well, take him into this room,” said the woman, open- 
ing into a small bedroom, where stood a comfortable bed. 
Eliza laid the weary boy upon it, and held his hands in 
hers till he was fast asleep. For her there was no rest. 
As a fire in her bones, the thought of the pursuer urged 
her on ; and she gazed with longing eyes on the sullen, 
surging waters that lay between her and liberty. 

Here we must take our leave of her for the present, to 
follow the course of her pursuers. 


Though Mrs. Shelby had promised that the dinner should 
be hurried on the table, yet it was soon seen, as the thing 
has often been seen before, that it required more than one 
to make a bargain. So although the 'order was fairly given 
out in Haley’s hearing, and carried to Aunt Chloe by at 
least half a dozen juvenile messengers, that dignitary only 
gave certain very gruff snorts, and tosses of her head, and 
went on with every operation in an unusually leisurely and 
circumstantial manner. 

For some singular reason, an impression seemed to reign 
among the servants generally that Missis would not be 
particularly disobliged by delay ; and it was wonderful 
what a number of counter accidents occurred constantly, to 
retard the course of things. One luckless wight contrived 
to upset the gravy ; and then gravy had to be got up de 
novOy with due care and formality. Aunt Chloe watching 
and stirring with dogged precision, answering shortly, 
to all suggestions of haste, that she warn’t a-going to have 
raw gravy on the table, to help nobody’s catchings.” One 


62 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


tumbled down with the water, and had to go to the spring 
for more ; and another precipitated the butter into the 
path of events ; and there was from time to time giggling 
news brought into the kitchen that Mas’r Haley was 
mighty oneasy, and that he couldn^t sit in his cheer no 
ways, but was a- walkin' and stalkin' to the winders and 
through the porch." 

^‘Sarves him right!" said Aunt Chloe, indignantly. 

He'll get wus nor oneasy, one of these days, if he don't 
mend his ways. His master'll be sending for him, and 
then see how he'll look ! " 

He'll go to torment, and no mistake," said little 
Jake. 

“He desarves it!" said Aunt Chloe, grimly; “he's 
broke many, many, many hearts, — I tell ye all ! " she 
said, stopping, with a fork uplifted in her hands ; “ it's 
like what Mas'r George reads in Revelations, — souls a-callin' 
under the altar ! and a-callin' on the Lord for vengeance 
on sich ! — and by and by the Lord he'll hear 'em — so he 
will ! " 

Aunt Chloe, who was much revered in the kitchen, was 
listened to with open mouth ; and, the dinner being now 
fairly sent in, the whole kitchen was at leisure to gossip 
with her, and to listen to her remarks. 

“ Sich'll be burnt up forever, and no mistake ; won't 
they ?" said Andy. 

“ I'd be glad to see it. I'll be boun'," said little Jake. 

“ Chil’en ! " said a voice, that made them all start. It 
was Uncle Tom, who had come in, and stood listening to 
the conversation at the door. 

“ Chil'en !" he said, “I'm af eared you don't know what 
ye're sayin'. Forever is a dregful word, chil'en ; it's awful 
to think on't. You oughtenter wish that ar to any hu- 
man crittur." 

“We wouldn't to anybody but the soul-drivers," said 
Andy; “nobody can help wishing it to them, they's so 
awful wicked." 

“ Don't natur herself kinder cry out on 'em ? " said 
Aunt Chloe. “ Don't dev tear der suckin' baby right off his 
mother's breast, and sell him, and der little children as 
is crying and holding on by her clothes, — don't dey pull 
'em off and sells 'em ? Don't dey tear wife and husband 
apart ? " said Aunt Chloe, beginning to cry, “ when it's 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


63 


jest takin' the very life on ^em ? — and all the while does 
they feel one bit, — don^’t dey drink and smoke, and take 
it oncommon easy ? Lor, if the devil don^’t get them, 
what's he good for ? " And Aunt Chloe covered her face 
with her checked apron, and began to sob in good earnest. 

Pray for them that 'spitefully use you, the good book 
says," says Tom. 

^^Pray for 'em?" said Aunt Chloe; Lor, it's too 
tough ? I can't pray for 'em." 

It's natur, Chloe, and natur's strong," said Tom, 

but the Lord's grace is stronger ; besides, you oughter 
think what an awful state a poor crittur's soul's in that'll 
do them ar things, — you oughter thank God that you an't 
lihe him, Chloe. I'm sure I'd rather be sold, ten thousand 
times over, than to have all that ar poor crittur's got to 
answer for." 

So'd I, a heap," said Jake. Lor, sliouldnH we cotch 
it, Andy ? " 

Andy shrugged his shoulders, and gave an acquiescent 
whistle. 

I'm glad Mas'r didn't go off this morning, as he looked 
to," said Tom ; that ar hurt me more than sellin', it did. 
Mebbe it might have been natural for him, but 'twould have 
come desp't hard on me, as has known him from a baby ; 
but I've seen Mas'r, and I begin ter feel sort o' reconciled 
to the Lord's will now. Mas'r couldn't help hisself ; he 
did right, but I'm feared things will be kinder goin' to 
rack, when I'm gone. Mas'r can't be spected to be a-pryin^ 
round every whar, as I've done, a-keepin' up all the ends. 
The boys all means well, but they's powerful car'less. 
That ar troubles me." 

The bell here rang, and Tom was summoned to the 
parlor. 

Tom," said his master, kindly, I want you to notice 
that I give this gentleman bonds to forfeit a thousand dol- 
lars if you are not on the spot when he wants you ; he's 
going to-day to look after his other business, and you can 
have the day to yourself. Go anywhere you like, boy." 

Thank you, Mas'r," said Tom. 

And mind yerself," said the trader, and don't come 
it over your master with any o' yer nigger tricks ; for I'll 
take every cent out of him, if you an't thar. If he'd hear 
to me, he wouldn't trust any on ye — slippery as eels 1 " 


64 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; Ou, 


Mas^r/^ said Tom, — and he stood very straight, — 1 
was jist eight years old when ole Missis put you into my 
arms, and you wasnT a year old. ^ Thar,^ says she, 
^Tom, that's to be your young Mas'r ; take good care 
on him,' says she. And now I jist ask you, Mas'r, have 
I ever broke word to you, or gone contrary to you, 'spe- 
cially since I was a Christian ? " 

Mr. Shelby was fairly overcome, and the tears rose to 
his eyes. 

My good hoy," said he, the Lord knows you say hut 
the truth ; and if I was able to help it, all the world shouldn't 
buy you." 

^^And sure as I am a Christian woman," said Mrs. 
Shelby, you shall be redeemed as soon as I can any way 
bring together means. Sir," she said to Haley, ‘^take 
good account of who you sell him to, and let me know." 

^^Lor, yes, for that matter," said the trader, ^‘1 may 
bring him up in a year, not much the wuss for wear, and 
trade him back." 

I'll trade with you then, and make it for your advan- 
tage," said Mrs. Shelby. 

Of course," said the trader, all's equal with me 
li'ves trade 'em up as down, so I does a good business. 
All I want is a livin', you know, ma'am ; that's all any on 
us wants, I s'pose." 

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby both felt annoyed and degraded by 
the familiar impudence of the trader, and yet both saw the 
absolute necessity of putting a constraint on their feelings. 
The more hopelessly sordid and insensible he appeared, 
the greater became Mrs. Shelby's dread of his succeeding 
in recapturing Eliza and her child, and of course the 
greater her motive for detaining him by every female 
artifice. She therefore graciously smiled, assented, chatted 
familiarly, and did all she could to make time pass 
imperceptibly. 

At two o'clock Sam and Andy brought the horses up to 
the posts, apparently greatly refreshed and invigorated by 
the scamper of the morning. 

Sam was there new oiled from dinner, with an abundance 
of zealous and ready officiousness. As Haley approached, 
he was boasting, in fiourishing style, to Andy, of the 
evident and eminent success of the operation, now that he 
had farly come to it." 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


65 


Yonr master, I s'pose, don^t keep no dogs/’ said Haley, 
thouglitfully, as he prepared to mount. 

Heaps on ’em/’ said Sam, triumphantly ; thar’s 
Bruno — he’s a roarer ! and, besides that, ’bout every 
nigger of us keeps a pup of some natur’ or uther.” 

^^Poh!”said Haley, — and he said something else too, 
with regard to the said dogs, at which Sam muttered, 

I don’t see no use cussin’ on ’em, no way.” 

But your master don’t keep no dogs (I pretty much 
know he don’t) for trackin’ out niggers.” 

Sam knew exactly what he meant, but he kept on a look 
of earnest and desperate simplicity. 

Our dogs all smells round consid’able sharp. I spect 
they’s the kind, though they han’t never had no practice. 
They’s far dogs, though, at most anything, if you’d get 
’em started. Here, Bruno,” he called, whistling to the 
lumbering Newfoundland, who came pitching tumult- 
uously toward them. 

You go hang!” said Haley, getting up. Come, 
tumble up now.” 

Sam tumbled up accordingly, dexterously contriving to 
tickle Andy as he did so, which occasioned Andy to split 
out into a laugh, greatly to Haley’s indignation, who made 
a cut at him with his riding-whip. 

I’s ’stonished at yer, Andy,” said Sam, with awful 
gravity. This yePs a seris business, Andy. Yer mustn’t 
be a-makin’ game. This yer an’t no way to help Mas’r.” 

I shall take the straight road to the river,” said Haley, 
decidedly, after they had come to the boundaries of the 
estate. know the way of all of ’em, — they makes 
tracks for the underground.” 

Sartin,” said Sam, ^‘^dat’s de idee. Mas’r Haley hits 
de thing right in de middle. Now, der’s two roads to de 
river, — de dirt road and der pike, — which Mas’r mean to 
take ? ” 

Andy looked up innocently at Sam, surprised at hearing 
this new geographical fact, but instantly confirmed what 
he said by a vehement reiteration. 

’Cause,” said Sam, I’d rather be ’dined to ’magine 
that ’Lizy’d take de dirt road, bein’ it’s the least travelled.” 

Haley, notwithstanding that he was a very old bird, and 
naturally inclined to be suspicious of chaff, was rather 
brought up by this view of the case. 


66 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


If yer warn^t both on yer such cussed liars, now ! ** he 
said, contemplatively, as he pondered a moment. 

The pensive, reflective tone in which this was spoken 
appeared to amuse Andy prodigiously, and he drew a little 
behind, and shook so as apparently to run a great risk of 
falling off his horse, while Sam^s face was immovably com- 
posed into the most doleful gravity. 

Course, said Sam, MasT can do as he^d ruthur ; go 
de straight road, if Mas’r thinks best, — it^s all one to us. 
Now, when I study ^pon it, I think de straight road de 
best, deridedly” 

She would naturally go a lonesome way,^^ said Haley, 
thinking aloud, and not minding Sam^s remark. 

Dar anT no sayin’,^^ said Sam ; gals is pecular ; they 
never does nothin^ ye thinks they will ; mose genflly the 
contrar. Gals is natflly made contrary ; and so, if you 
thinks they^ve gone one road, it is sartin you^d better go 
t’other, and then you’ll be sure to find ’em. Now, my 
private ’pinion is, ’Lizy took der dirt road ; so I think we’d 
better takede straight one.” 

This profound generic view of the female sex did not 
seem to dispose Haley particularly to the straight road ; 
and he announced decidedly that he should go the other, 
and asked Sam when they should come to it. 

A little piece ahead,” said Sam, giving a wink to Andy 
with the eye which was on Andy’s side of the head ; and 
he added, gravely, ^^but I’ve studded on de matter, and 
I’m quite clar we ought not to go dat ar way. I neb- 
ber been over it no way. It’s despit lonesome, and we 
might lose our way, — whar we’d come to, de Lord only 
knows.” 

Nevertheless,” said Haley, I shall go that way.” 

Now I think on’t, I think I hearn ’em tell that dat ar 
road was all fenced up and down by der creek, and thar, 
an’t it, Andy ?” 

Andy wasn’t certain ; he’d only hearn tell,” about 
that road, but never been over it. In short, he was strictly 
non-committal. 

Haley, accustomed to strike the balance of probabilities 
between lies of greater or lesser magnitude, thought that 
it lay in favor of the dirt road aforesaid. The mention 
of the thing he thought he perceived was involuntary on 
Sam’s part at first, and his confused attempts to dissuade 


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Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

“She strained him to her bosom, as she went rapidly forward.” 

— Page 67. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


67 


him he set down to a desperate lying on second thoughts, 
as being unwilling to implicate Eliza. 

When, therefore, Sam indicated the road, Haley plunged 
briskly into it, followed by Sam and Andy. 

How, the road, in fact, was an old one, that had formerly 
been a thoroughfare to the river, but abandoned for many 
years after the laying of the new pike. It was open for 
about an hour’s ride, and after that it was cut across by 
various farms and fences. Sam knew this fact perfectly 
well, — indeed, the road had been so long closed up, that 
Andy had never heard of it. He therefore rode along with 
an air of dutiful submission, only groaning and vociferat- 
ing occasionally that ’twas desp’t rough, and bad for 
Jerry’s foot.” 

^^How, I jest give yer warning,” said Haley, know 
yer ; yer won’t get me to turn off this yer road, with all 
yer fussin’ — so you shet up ! ” 

^^Mas’r will go his own way !” said Sam, with rueful 
submission, at the same time winking most portentously 
to Andy, whose delight was now very near the explosive 
point. 

Sam was in wonderful spirits, — professed to keep a very 
brisk look-out, — at one time exclaiming that he saw ^‘^a 
gal’s bonnet ” on the top of some distant eminence, or 
calling to Andy if that thar wasn’t ^ ’Lizy ’ down in the 
hollow ; ” always making these exclamations in some rough 
or craggy part of the road, where the sudden quickening 
of speed was a special inconvenience to all parties con- 
cerned, and thus keeping Haley in a state of constant com- 
motion. 

After riding about an hour in this way, the whole party 
made a precipitate and tumultous descent into a barn-yard 
belonging to a large farming establishment. Hot a soul 
was in sight, all the hands being employed in the fields ; 
but, as the barn stood conspicuously and plainly square 
across the road, it was evident that their journey in that 
direction had reached a decided finale. 

Wan’t dat ar what I telled Mas’r ? ” said Sam, with 
an air of injured innocence. How does strange gentle- 
men spect to know more about a country dan de natives 
born and raised ? ” 

^^You rascal ! ” said Haley, ^^you knew all about this.” 

Didn’t I tell yer I hnow^d, and yer wouldn’t believe 


68 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


me ? I telled Mas’r ^twas all shet up, and fenced up, and 
I didn’t spect we could get through, — Andy heard me.” 

It was all too true to be disputed, and the unlucky man 
had to pocket his wrath with the best grace he was able, 
and all three faced to the right-about, and took up their 
line of march for the highway. 

In consequence of all the various delays, it was about 
three-quarters of an hour after Eliza had laid her child to 
sleep in the village tavern that the party came riding into 
the same place. Eliza was standing by the window, look- 
ing out in another direction, when Sam’s quick eye caught 
a glimpse of her. Haley and Andy were two yards behind. 
At this crisis, Sam contrived to have his hat blown off, 
and uttered a loud and characteristic ejaculation, which 
startled her at once ; she drew suddenly hack ; the whole 
train swept by the window, round to the front door. 

A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one 
moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the 
river. She caught her child, and sprang down the steps 
towards it. The trader caught a full glimpse of her, just 
as she was disappearing down the bank ; and throwing 
himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, 
he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy 
moment her feet to her scarce seemed to touch the ground, 
and a moment brought her to the water’s edge. Right on 
behind they came ; and, nerved with strength such as God 
gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying 
leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the 
shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate 
leap — impossible to anything but madness and despair ; 
and Haley, Sam, and Andy, instinctively cried out, and 
lifted up their hands, as she did it. 

The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted 
pitched and creaked as her weight came on it, but she 
stayed there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate 
energy she leaped to another and still another cake ; — 
stumbling — leaping — slipping — springing upwards again ! 
Her shoes are gone — her stockings cut from her feet — 
while blood marked every step ; but she saw nothing, felt 
nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, 
and a man helping her up the bank. 

Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye ar ! ” said the man, 
with an oath. 


LIFE AMOEG THE LOWLY, 69 

Eliza recognized the voice and face of a man who owned 
a farm not far from her old home. 

0 Mr. Symmes ! — save me — do save me — do hide me ! 
said Eliza. 

^‘Why, what^s this?” said the man. ^^Why, if ^tan^t 
Shelby^s gal ! ” 

My child ! — this boy ! — heM sold him ! There is his 
Mas^r,” said she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. 0 
Mr. Symmes, yon\e got a little boy ! ” 

So I have,” said the man, as he roughly, hut kindly, 
drew her up the steep hank. Besides, you^re a right 
brave gal. I like grit, wherever I see it.” 

When they had gained the top of the hank, the man 
paused. 

^^Fd be glad to do something for ye,” said he ; ^^but 
then thaFs nowhar I could take ye. The best I can do is 
to tell ye to go thar” said he, pointing to a large white 
house which stood by itself, off the main street of the vil- 
lage. Go thar ; they^re kind folks. ThaFs no kind o^ 
danger hut the3r’ll help you, — ^they^re up to all that sort 

thing.” 

The Lord bless you !” said Eliza earnestly. 

^^Ko ^casion, no ^casion in the world,” said the man. 

What Fve donees of no ^count.” 

And, oh, surely, sir, you wonT tell any one ! ” 

Go to thunder, gal ! What do you take a feller for ? 
In course not,” said the njan. Come, now, go along like 
a likely, sensible gal, as you are. YouVearntyour liberty, 
and you shall have it, for all me.” 

The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked 
firmly and swiftly away. The man stood and looked after 
her. 

Shelby, now, mebbe wonT think this yer the most 
neighborly thing in the world ; but whaFs a feller to do ? 
If he catches one of my gals in the same fix, he^s welcome 
to pay hack. Somehow I never could see no kind o' critter 
a-strivin' and pantin', and trying to clar theirselves, with 
the dogs arter 'em, and go agin 'em. Besides, I don't see 
no kind of 'casion for me to fe hunter and catcher for otiier 
folks, neither.” 

So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not 
been instructed in his constitutional relations, and conse- 
quently was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized 


70 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


manner, which, if he had been better situated and more 
enlightened, he would not have been left to do. 

Haley had stood a perfectly amazed spectator of the scene, 
till Eliza had disappeared up the bank, when he turned a 
blank, inquiring look on Sam and Andy. 

That ar was a toFable fair stroke of business, said 
Sam. 

The gabs got seven devils in her, I believe said 
Haley. How like a wildcat she jumped ! 

^^Wal, now,"’^ said Sam, scratching her head, I hope 
MasT^ll ^scuse us tryin^ dat ar road. DonT think I feel 
spry enough for dat ar, nO way ! and Sam gave a hoarse 
chuckle. 

You laugh ! said the trader with a growl. 

^^Lord bless you, MasT, I couldnT help it, now, said 
Sam, giviiig way to the long pent-up delight of his soul. 

She looked so curias, a leapim and springin^ — ice a crack- 
in^ — and only to hear her, — plump ! ker chunk ! ker splash I 
Spring ! Lord ! how she goes it ! and Sam and Andy 
laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks. 

ril make ye laugh toother side yer mouths ! said the 
trader, laying about their heads with his riding-whip. 

Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were 
on their horses before he was up. 

Good-evening, MasT ! said Sam, with much gravity. 

I berry much ^spect Missis be anxious Tout Jerry. 
MasT Haley wonT want us no longer. Missis wouldnT 
hear of our ridin^ the critters over Tjizy^’s bridge to-night ; ” 
and, with a facetious poke into Andy^s ribs, he started oif, 
followed by the latter, at full speed, — their shouts of laugh- 
ter coming faintly on the wind. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Eliza made her desperate retreat across the river just in 
the dusk of twilight. The gray mist of evening, rising 
slowly from the river, enveloped her as she disappeared up 
the bank, and the swollen current and floundering masses 
of ice presented a hopeless barrier between her and her pur- 
suer. Haley therefore slowly and discontentedly returned 
to the little tavern, to ponder further what was to be done. 



Uncle I'otns Cabin. Byron Photo, Courtesy of W A, Brady, 

Scene at the Bar-room. — P^ge 77. 





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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


71 


The woman opened to him the door of a little parlor, 
covered with a rag-carpet, where stood a table with a very 
shining black oil-cloth, sundry lank, high-backed wood 
chairs, with some plaster images in resplendent colors on 
the mantel-shelf, above a very dimly-smoking grate ; a 
long hard-wood settle extended its uneasy length by the 
chimney, and here Haley sat him down to meditate on the 
instability of human hopes and happiness in general. 

What did I want with the little cuss, now,"’"' he said to 
himself, that I should have got myself treed like a coon, 
as I am, this yer way ? ” and Haley relieved himself by re- 
peating over a not very select litany of imprecations on 
himself, which, though there was the best possible reason 
to consider them as true, we shall, as a matter of taste, omit. 

He was startled by the loud and dissonant voice of a 
man who was apparently dismounting at the door. He 
hurried to the window. 

“ By the land ! if this yer an^t the nearest, now to what 
Fve heard folks call Providence,^'’ said Haley. I do 
bTieve that ar’s Tom Loker.^'’ 

Haley hastened out. Standing by the bar, in the corner 
of the room, was a brawny, muscular man, full six feet in 
height, and broad in proportion. He was dressed in a coat 
of buffalo-skin, made with the hair outward, which gave 
him a shaggy and fierce appearance, perfectly in keeping 
with the whole air of his physiognomy. In the head and 
face every organ and lineament expressive of brutal and 
unhesitating violence was in a state of the highest possible 
development. Indeed, could our readers fancy a bull-dog 
come unto man^s estate, and walking about in a hat and 
coat, they would have no unapt idea of the general style 
and effect of his physique. He was accompanied by a travel- 
ling companion, in many respects an exact contrast to him- 
self. He was short and slender, lithe and cat-like in his 
motions, and had a peering mousing expression about his 
keen black eyes, with which every feature of his face 
seemed sharpened into sympathy ; his thin, long nose ran 
out as if it was eager to bore into the nature of things in 
general ; his sleek, thin, black hair was stuck eagerly for- 
ward, and all his motions and evolutions expressed a dry, 
cautious acuteness. The great big man poured out a big 
tumbler half full of raw spirits, and gulped it down with- 
out a word. The little man stood tiptoe, and putting his 


72 


UNCLE TOM ^8 CABIN; OB, 


head first to one side then to the other, and snuffing con- 
siderately in the directions of the various bottles, ordered 
at last a mint julep, in a thin and quivering voice, and 
with an air of great circumspection. When poured out, he 
took it and looked at it with a sharp, complacent air, like 
a man who thinks he has done about the right thing, and 
hit the nail on the head, and proceeded to dispose of it in 
short and well-advised sips. 

Wal, now, whor’d a thought his yer lucked come to 
me ? Why, Loker, how are ye said Haley, coming for- 
ward, and extending his hand to the big man. 

The devil ! ” was the civil reply. What brought you 
here, Haley ? 

The mousing man, who bore the name of Marks, in- 
stantly stopped his sipping, and, poking his head forward, 
looked shrewdly on the new acquaintance, as a cat some- 
times looks at a moving dry leaf, or some other possible 
object of pursuit. 

I say, Tom, this yer^s the luckiest thing in the world. 
Fm in a devil of a hobble, and you must help me out.^^ 

IJgh ? aw! like enough I grunted his complacent 
acquaintance. A body may be pretty sure of that, when 
youWe glad to see ^em ; something to be made ofi of ^em, 
WhaFs the blow now ? 

You\e got a friend here ? said Haley, looking doubt- 
fully at Marks ; partner, perhaps ? 

Yes, I have. Here, Marks I here^s that ar feller that 
I was in with in Natchez.'’^ 

Shall be pleased with his acquaintance,^^ said Marks, 
thrusting out a long, thin hand, like a raven^s claw. Mr. 
Haley, I believe V 

The same, sir,^^ said Haley. And now, gentlemen, 
seein^ as we\e met so happily, I think ITl stand up to a 
small matter of a treat in this here parlor. So, now, old 
coon,^^ said he to the man at the bar, get us hot water, 
and sugar, and cigars, and plenty of the real stuff, and weTl 
have a blow-out. 

Behold, then, the candles lighted, the fire stimulated to 
the burning point in the grate, and our three worthies 
seated round a table, well spread with all the accessories to 
good-fellowship enumerated before. 

Haley began a pathetic recital of his peculiar troubles. 
Loker shut up his mouth, and listened to him with grufi 


LIFE AMOJSG THE LOWLY. 


73 


dnd surly attention. Marks, who was anxiously and with 
much fidgeting compounding a tumbler of punch to his 
own peculiar taste, occasionally looked up from his employ- 
ment, and, poking his sharp nose and chin almost into 
Haley^s face, gave the most earnest heed to the whole nar- 
rative. The conclusion of it appeared to amuse him ex- 
tremely, for he shook his shoulders and sides in silence, 
and perked up his thin lips with an air of great internal 
enjoyment. 

So, then, yeT fairly sewed up, anT ye he said; 
^^he ! he ! he ! It^s neatly done, too.” 

This yer young-un business makes lots of trouble in 
the trade,” said Haley, dolefully. 

If we could get a breed of gals that didnT care, now, 
for their young uns,” said Marks ; tell ye, I think 
Twould be Tout the greatest modhn improvement I knows 
on,” — and Marks patronized his joke by a quiet introduc- 
tory sniggle. 

Jes so,” said Haley ; I never couldn’t see into it ; 
young uns is heaps of trouble to ’em ; one would think, 
now, they’d be glad to get clar on ’em ; hut they arn’t. 
And the more trouble a young un is, and the more good 
for nothing, as a gen’l thing, the tighter they sticks to 
’em.” 

^^Wal, Mr. Haley,” said Marks, ^^jest pass the hot 
water. Yes, sir ; you say jest what I feel and all’us have. 
Now, I bought a gal once, when I was in the trade, — a 
tight, likely wench she was, too, and quite considerable 
smart, — and she had a young un that was mis’able sickly ; 
It had a crooked back, or something or other ; and I jest 
gin’t away to a man that thought he’d take his chance 
raising on’t, being it didn’t cost nothin’ ; — never thought, 
5/8r know, of the gal’s takin’ on about it, — but. Lord, yer 
onghter seen how she went on. Why, re’lly, she did seem 
to me to valley the child more ’cause Hwas sickly and cross 
and plagued her ; and she wan’t making b’lieve, neither, — 
cried about it, she did, and lopped round, as if she’d lost 
every friend she had. It re’lly was droll to think on’t. 
Jjord, there an’t no end to women’s notions.” 

^‘Wal, jest so with me,” said Haley. “Last summer, 
down on Red river, I got a gal traded off on me, with a likely 
lookin’ child enough, and his eyes looked as bright as yourn ; 
bnt, come to look, I found him stone blind. Fact — he 


74 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


was stone blind. Wal, ye see, I thought there warn't no 
harm in my jest passing him along, and not say in'* nothin^ ; 
and I'd got him nicely swapped off for a keg o' whiskey ; 
but come to get him away from the gal, she was jest like 
a tiger. So, 'twas before we started, and I hadn't got my 
gang chained up ; so what should she do but ups on a 
cotton-bale, like a cat, ketches a knife from one of the 
deck hands, and, I tell ye, she made all fly for a minit, till 
she saw 'twan't no use ; and she jest turns round, and 
pitches head first, young un and all, into the river, — went 
down plump, and never ris." 

Bah ! " said Tom Loker, who had listened to these 
stories with ill-repressed disgust, — shif'less, both on ye ! 
my gals don't cut up no such shines, I tell ye ! " 

Indeed ! how do you help it ? " said Marks, briskly. 

Help it ? why, I buys a gal, and if she's got a young 
un to be sold, I jest walks up and puts my fist to her face, 
and says, ^ Look here, now, if you give me one word out 
of your head. I'll smash yer face in. I won't hear one word 
— not the beginning of a word.' Isays to 'em, ^This yer 
young un's mine, and not yourn, and you've no kind o' busi- 
ness with it. I'm going to sell it, first chance ; mind, you 
don't cut up none o' yer shines about it, or I'll make ye 
wish ye'd never been born. I tell ye, they sees it an't no 
play, when I gets hold. I makes 'em as whist as fishes ; 
and if one on 'em begins and gives a yelp, why, — and jVIr. 
Loker brought down his fist with a thump that fully ex- 
plained the hiatus. 

^^That ar's what ye may call emphasis,” said Maiks pok- 
ing Haley in the side, and going into another small giggle. 
^^An't Tom peculiar ? he ! he! he I Isay, Tom^ I s'pect 
you makes 'em understand, for all niggers' heads is woolly. 
They don't never have no doubt o' your meaning, Tom. 
If you an't the devil, Tom, you's his twin brother. I'll say 
that for ye 1 " 

Tom received the compliment with becoming modesty, 
and began to look as affable as was consistent, as John 
Bunyan says, with his doggish nature." 

Haley, who had been imftbing very freely of the staple 
of the evening, began to feel a sensible elevation and en- 
largement of his moral faculties — a phenomenon not unusual 
with gentlemen of a serious and reflective turn, under simi- 
lar circumstances. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


75 


now, Tom,'’^ he said, ye really is too bad, as I 
ahays have told ye ; ye know, Tom, you and I used to talk 
over these yer matters down in Natchez, and I used to prove 
to ye that we made full as much, and was as well off for this 
yer world, by treatin^ on ^em well, besides keepin^ a better 
chance for comin^ in the kingdom at last, when wust comes 
to wust, and thar anT nothing else left to get, ye know/'’ 

Boh ! said Tom, don’t I know ? — donT make me too 
sick with any yer stuff, — my stomach is aleetle riled now ; ” 
and Tom drank half a glass of raw brandy. 

I say," said Haley, and leaning back in his chair and 
gesturing impressively, I’ll say this now, I al’ays meant 
to drive my trade so as to make money on’t, fust and fore- 
most y as much as any man ; but, then, trade an’t everything, 
and money an’t everything, ’cause we’s all got souls. I 
don’t care, now, who hears me say it, — and I think a cussed 
sight on it, — so I may as well come out Avith it. I b’lieve 
in religion, and one of these days, when I’ve got matters 
tight and snug, I calculates to tend to my soul and them 
ar matters ; and so what’s the use of doin’ any more wick- 
edness than’s re’lly necessary ? — it don’t seem to me it’s 
’tall prudent.’’ 

Tend to your soul ! " repeated Tom, contemptuously ; 
^^take a bright lookout to find a soul in you, — save your- 
self any care on that score. If the devil sifts you through 
a hair sieve, he Avon’t find one.’’ 

^^Why, Tom, you’re cross,’’ said Haley; why can’t 
ye take it pleasant, now, when a feller’s talking for your 
good ? ’’ 

Stop that ar jaw o’ yourn, there,’’ said Tom, gruffly. 

I can stand ’most any talk o’ yourn but your pious talk, 
— that kills me right up. After all, what’s the odds be- 
tween me and you ? ’Tan’t that you care one bit more, or 
have a hit more feelin’, — it’s clean, sheer, dog meanness, 
wanting to cheat the devil and save your own skin ; don’t 
I see through it ? And your ^ gettin’ religion,’ as you call 
it, arter all, is too p’isin mean for any crittur ; — run up a 
bill with the devil all your life, and then sneak out when 
pay-time comes ! Boh ! ’’ 

Come, come, gentlemen, I say ; this isn’t business,’’ 
said Marks. There’s different ways, you know, of look- 
ing at all subjects. Mr. Haley is a very nice man, no doubt, 
and has his own conscience ; and, Tom, you have your ways. 


76 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


and very good ones, too, Tom ; but quarrelling, you know, 
wonT answer no kind of purpose. Let's go to business. 
Now, Mr. Haley, what is it ? — you want us to undertake 
to catch this yer gal ? " 

The gal's no matter of mine — she's Shelby's ; it's only 
the boy. I was a fool for buying the monkey ! " 

^‘'You're generally a fool !" said Tom, gruffly. 

Come, now, Loker, none of your huffs," said Marks, 
licking his lips ; ^‘^you see, Mr. Haley's a-puttin' us in a 
way of a good job, I reckon; just hold still, — these yer 
arrangements is my forte. This yer gal, Mr. Haley, how 
is she ? what is she ? " 

Wal ! white and handsome — well brought up. I'd a 
gin Shelby eight hundred or a thousand, and then made 
well on her." 

White and handsome — well brought up ! " said Marks, 
his sharp eyes, nose, and mouth all alive with enterprise. 
^^Look here, now, Loker, a beautiful opening. We'll do a 
business here on our own account ; — we does the catchin' ; 
the boy, of course, goes to Mr. Haley, — we takes the gal to 
Orleans to speculate on. An't it beautiful ? " 

Tom, whose great heavy mouth had stood ajar during 
this communication, now suddenly snapped it together, 
as a big dog closes on a piece of meat, and seemed to be 
digesting the idea at his leisure. 

Ye see," said Marks to Haley, stirring his punch as he 
did so, ^‘^ye see, we has justices convenient at all p'ints 
along shore, and does up any little jobs in our line quite 
reasonable. Tom, he does the knockin' down and that ar ; 
and I come in all dressed up — shining boots — everything 
first chop, when, the swearin' 's to be done. You oughter 
see, now," said Marks, in a glow of professional pride, 
how I can tone it off. One day. I'm Mr. Twickem, 
from New Orleans ; 'nother day, I'm just come from my 
plantation on Pearl Eiver, where I works seven hundred 
niggers ; then, again, I come out a distant relation of 
Henry Clay, or some old cock in Kentuck. Talents is 
different, you know. Now, Tom's a roarer when there's 
any thumping or fighting to be done ; but at lying he an't 
good, Tom an't, — ye see it don't come natural to him ; but. 
Lord, if thar's a feller in the country that can swear to any- 
thing and everything, and put in all the circumstances and 
flourishes with a longer face, and carry 't through better'n 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


77 


I can, why, Fd like to see him, thaFs all ! I believe my 
heart, I could get along and snake through, even if jus- 
tices were more particular than they is. Sometimes, 1 
rather wish they was more particular : '’twould be a heap 
more relishin^ if they was, — more fun, yer know.^^ 

Tom Loker, who, as we have made it appear, was a man 
of slow thoughts and movements, here interrupted Marks 
by bringing his heavy first down on the table, so as to 
make all ring again. Ifll do ! ” he said. 

y Lord bless ye, Tom, ye neednT break all the glasses ! ^ 
said Marks ; save your fist for time o^ need.” 

But, gentlemen, anT I to come in for a share of the 
profits ? ” said Haley. 

AnT it enough we catch the boy for ye ? ” said Loker, 
What do ye want ? ” 

‘^Wal,” said Haley, ^^if I gives you the job, iFs worth 
something, — say ten per cent, on the profits, expenses paid.” 

How,” said Loker, with a tremendous oath, and strik- 
ing the table with his heavy fist, donT I know you, Dan 
Haley ? DonT you think to come it over me ! Suppose 
Marks and I have taken up the catchin^ trade, jest to '’com- 
modate gentlemen like you, and get nothin'’ for ourselves ? 
— Hot by a long chalk ! we'’ll have the gal out and out, 
and you keep quiet, or, ye see, wefil have both, — whaFs to 
hinder ? HanT you show'’d us the game ? IFs as free to 
us as you, I hope. If you or Shelby wants to chase us, 
look where the partridges was last year ; if you find them 
or us, youTe quite welcome.” 

0, wal, certainly, jest let it go at that,” said Haley, 
alarmed ; you catch the boy for the job ; — you allers did 
trade far with me, Tom, and was up to yer word.” 

Ye know that,” said Tom ; I don'’t pretend none of 
your snivelling ways, but I wonT lie in my '’counts with 
the devil himself. What I ses Fll do, I will do, — you 
know that, Dan Haley.” 

Jes so, jes so, — I said so, Tom,” said Haley ; and if 
you'’d only promise to have the boy for me in a week, at 
any point youfil name, thaFs all I want.” 

"^But it anT all I want, by a long jump,” said Tom. 
Ye donT think I did business with you, down in Hatchez, 
for nothing, Haley ; IVe learned to hold an eel, when I 
catch him. YouVe got to fork over fifty dollars, fiat 
down, or this child donT start a peg. I know yer.” 


78 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Why, when you have a job in hand that may bring a 
clean profit of somewhere about a thousand or sixteen 
hundred, why, Tom, youTe onreasonable,” said Haley. 

Yes, and hasn’t we business booked for five weeks to 
come, — all we can do ? And suppose we leaves all, and 
goes to bushwhacking round arter yer young ’un, and finally 
doesn’t catch the gal, — and gals allers is the devil to catch, 

■ — what’s then ? would you pay us a cent — would you ? 1 
think I see you a-doin’ it — ugh ! Ho, no ; fiap down your 
fifty. If we get the job, and it pays. I’ll hand it back ; 
if we don’t, it’s for our trouble, — that’s far, an’t it, 
Marks?” 

Certainly, certainly,” said Marks, with a conciliatory 
tone ; ^‘^it’s only a retaining fee, you see, — he ! he ! he! — 
we lawyers, you know. Wal, we must all keep good- 
natured, — keep easy, yer know. Tom’ll have the boy for 
yer, anywhere ye’ll name ; won’t ye, Tom ? ” 

If I find the young ’un. I’ll bring him on to Cincinnati, 
and leave him at Granny Belcher’s, on the landing,” said 
Loker. 

Marks had got from his pocket a greasy pockethook, 
and taking a long paper from thence, he sat down, and 
fixing his keen black eyes on it, began mumbling over 
its contents : Barnes — Shelby county — hoy Jim, three 
hundred dollars for him, dead or alive. 

Edwards — Dick and Lucy — man and wife, six hundred 
dollars ; wench Polly and two children — six hundred for 
her or her head. 

I’m jest a-runnin’ over our business, to see if we can 
take up this yer handily. Loker,” he said, after a pause, 
we must set Adams and Springer on the track of these 
yer ; they’ve been booked some time.” 

They’ll charge too much,” said Tom. 

I’ll manage that ar ; they’s young in the business, and 
must spect to work cheap,” said Marks, as he continued to 
read. Ther’s three on ’em easy cases, ’cause all you’ve got 
to do is to shoot ’em, or swear they is shot ; they couldn’t, 
of course, charge much for that. Them other cases,” he 
said, folding the paper, ^^will bear puttin’ off a spell. 
So now let’s come to the particulars. How, Mr. Haley, 
you saw this yer gal when she landed ? ” 

“ To he sure, — plain as I see you.” 

And a man helpin’ on her up the hank ? ” said Loker. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


79 


be sure, I did.” 

Most likely,” said Marks, ‘^^she^s took in somewhere*, 
but where, "s a question. Tom, what do you say ?” 

‘^We must cross the river to-night, no mistake,” said 
Tom. 

But there^s no boat about,” said Marks. The ice is 
running awfully, Tom ; anT it dangerous ? ” 

Don'no nothing Tout that, — only it^s got to be done,” 
said Tom, decidedly. 

y Dear me,” said Marks, fidgeting, it’ll be — I say,” he 
said, walking to the window, it’s dark as a wolf’s mouth, 
and, Tom ” 

The long and short is, you’re scared, Marks ; but I 
can’t help that, — you’ve got to go. Suppose you want to 
lie by a day or two, till the gal’s been carried on the un- 
derground line up to Sandusky or so, before you start.” 

0, no ; I an’t a grain afraid,” said Marks, only ” 

Only what ?” said Tom. 

Well, about the boat. Yer see there an’t any boat.” 

I heard the woman say there was one coming along 
this evening, and that a man was going to cross over in it. 
Neck or nothing, we must go with him,” said Tom. 

I s’pose you’ve got good dogs,” said Haley. 

First rate,” said Marks. But what’s the use ? you 
han’t got nothin’ o’ hers to smell on.” 

^‘^Yes, I have,” said Haley, triumphantly. Here’s 
her shawl she left on the bed in her hurry ; she left her 
bonnet, too.” 

^^That ar’s lucky,” said Loker ; ^^fork over.” 

Though the do^s might damage the gal, if they come 
on her unawars,” said Haley. 

^^That ar’s a consideration,” said Marks. ^^Our dogs 
tore a feller half to pieces, once, down in Mobile, ’fore we 
could get ’em off.” 

Well, ye see, for this sort that’s to be sold for their 
looks, that ar won’t answer, ye see,” said Haley. 

I do see,” said Marks. Besides, if she’s got took in, 
’tan’t no go, neither. Dogs is no ’count in these yer up 
states where these critters gets carried ; of course, ye can’t 
get on their track. They only does down in plantations, 
where niggers, when they runs, has to do their own run- 
ning, and don’t get no help.” 

Well,” said Loker, who had just stepped out to the 


80 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


bar to make some inquiries, ^Hhey say the man’s come 
with the boat ; so, Marks 

That worthy cast a rueful look at the comfortable quar- 
ters he was leaving, but slowly rose to obey. After ex- 
changing a few words of further arrangement, Haley, with 
visible reluctance, handed over the fifty dollars to Tom, 
and the worthy trio separated for the night. 

If any of our refined and Christian readers object to 
the society into which this scene introduces thern, let us 
beg them to begin and conquer their prejudices in time. 
The catching business, we beg to remind them, is rising 
to the dignity of a lawful and patriotic profession. If all 
the broad land between the Mississippi and the Pacific 
becomes one great market for bodies and souls, and human 
property retains the locomotive tendencies of this nine- 
teenth century, the trader and catcher may yet be among 
our aristocracy. 


While this scene was going on at the tavern, Sam and 
Andy, in a state of high felicitation, pursued their way 
home. 

Sam was in the highest possible feather, and expressed 
his exultation by all sorts of supernatural howls and ejacu- 
lations, by divers odd motions and contortions of his whole 
system. Sometimes he would sit backward, with his face 
to the horse’s tail and sides, and then, with a whoop and 
a somerset, come right side up in his place again, and, 
drawing on a grave face, begin to lecture Andy in high- 
sounding tones for laughing and playing the fool. Anon, 
slapping his sides with his arms, he would burst forth in 
peals of laughter, that made the old woods ring as they 
passed. With all these evolutions, he contrived to keep 
the horses up to the top of their speed, until, between ten 
and eleven, their heels resounded on the gravel at the end 
of the balcony. Mrs. Shelby flew to the railings. 

Is that you, Sam ? Where are they ? ” 

Mas’r Haley’s a-restin’ at the tavern ; he’s drefiul fa- 
tigued, Missis.’^ 

And Eliza, Sam ?” 

Wal, she’s clar ’cross Jordan. As a body may say, in 
the land o’ Canaan.” 

Why, Sam, what do you mean ?” said Mrs. Shelby, 


LIFE AMONG TEE LOWLY. 81 . 

breathless, and almost faint, as the possible meaning of 
these words came over her. 

^'Wal, Missis, de Lord he persarves his own. ^Liz/s 
done gone over the river into ^Hio, as ^markahly as if de 
Lord took her over in a charrit of fire and two bosses. 

Sam^s vein of piety was always uncommonly fervent in 
his mistress^ presence ; and he made great capital of Scrips 
tural figures and images. 

"" Come up here, Sam,” said Mr. Shelby, who had fol- 
lowed on to the verandah, and tell your mistress what 
she wants. Come, come, Emily,” said he, passing his 
arm round her, you are cold and all in a shiver ; you allow 
yourself to feel too much.” 

Feel too much ! Am not I a woman, — a mother ? 
Are we not both responsible to God for this poor girl ? My 
God ! lay not this sin to our charge.” 

What sin, Emily ? You see yourself that we have 
only done what we were obliged to.” 

There^s an awful feeling of guilt about it, though,” 
said Mrs. Shelby, can't reason it away.” 

Here, Andy, you nigger, be alive ! ” called Sam, under 
the verandah ; ^‘^take these yer bosses to der barn ; don't 
yer hear Mas'r a-callin' ?” and Sam soon appeared, palm- 
leaf in hand, at the parlor door. 

‘^^Now, Sam, tell us distinctly how the matter was,” 
said Mr. Shelby. Where is Eliza, if you know ?” 

^‘^Wal, Mas'r, I saw her, with my own eyes, a-crossin' 
on the floatin' ice. She crossed most 'markably ; it wasn't 
no less nor a miracle ; and I saw a man help her up the 
'Hio side, and then she was lost in the dusk.” 

^^Sam, I think this rather apocryphal, — this miracle. 
Crossing on floating ice isn't so easily done,” said Mr. 
Shelby. 

Easy ! couldn't nobody a done it, widout the Lord. 
Why, now,” said Sam, ‘'‘^'twas jist dis yer way. Mas'r 
Haley, and me, and Andy, we comes up to de little tavern 
by the river, and I rides a leetle ahead, — (I's so zealous to be 
a cotchin' 'Lizy, that I couldn't hold in, no way), — and 
when I comes by the tavern winder, sure enough, there she 
was right in plain sight, and dey diggin' on behind. Wal, 
I loses off my hat, and sings out 'nuff to raise the dead. 
Course ^Lizy she bars, and she dodges back, when Mas'r 
Haley he goes past the door ; and then, I tell ye, she 

6 


82 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


dared out de side door ; she went down the river-bank , 
^ ^ " er, and yelled out, and him, and 



arter. Down she come to the 


river, and thar was the current running ten feet wide by 
the shore, and over toother side ice a-sawin'’ and a- jiggling 
up and down, kinder as ^twere a great island. We come 
right behind her, and I thought my soul he^d got her sure 
enough, — when she gin sich a screech as I never hearn, 
and thar she was, clar over toother side the current, on the 
ice, and then on she went, a-screeching and a-jumpin^ — 
the ice went crack ! cVallop ! cracking ! chunk ! and she 
a-boundin^ like a buck ! Lord, the spring that ar gahs 
got in her an^t common, Fm o^ Opinion. 

Mrs. Shelby sat perfectly silent, pale with excitement, 
while Sam told his story. 

God be praised, she isn^t dead ! she said ; but 
where is the poor child now ? 

De Lord will pervide,^^ said Sam, rolling up his eyes 
piously. As Fve been a-sayin,^ dis yeFs a providence 
and no mistake, as Missis has allers been a-instructin^ on 
us. ThaFs allers instruments ris up to do de Lord^s will. 
Now, if ^t hadn^t been for me to-day, sheM a been took a 
dozen times. Warn^t it I started off de bosses, dis yer 
mornin,^ and kept ^em chasin^ till nigh dinner time ? 
And didn^t I caF Mas^r Haley nigh five miles out of de 
road, dis evening, or else he’d a come up with ’Lizy as 
easy as a dog arter a coon. These yeFs all providences.” 

They are a kind of providence that you’ll have to be 
pretty sparing of. Master Sam. I allow no such practices 
with gentlemen on my place,” said Mr. Shelby, with as 
much sternness as he could command, under the circum- 
stances. 

Now, there is no more use in making believe be angry 
with a negro than with a child ; both instinctively see 
the true state of the case, through all attempts to affect 
the contrary ; and Sam was in no wise disheartened by this 
rebuke, though he assumed an air of doleful gravity, and 
stood with the corners of his mouth lowered in most peni- 
tential style. 

Mas’r’s quite right, — quite ; it was ugly on me, — there’s 
no disputin’ that ar ; and of course Mas’r and Missis wouldn’t 
encourage no such works. I’m sensible of dat ar ; but a 
poor nigger like me’s ’mazin’ tempted to act ugly some- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


83 


times, when fellers will cut up such shines as that ar Mas^r 
Haley ; he an"t no gen^Fman no way ; anybody's been raised 
as Fve been can’t help a-seein’ dat ar.” 

Well, Sam,” said Mrs. Shelby, ^^as you appear to have 
a proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell 
Aunt Chloe she may get you some of that cold ham that 
was left of dinner to-day. You and Andy must be 
hungry.” 

“ Missis is a heap too good for us,” said Sam, making 
his bow with alacrity, and departing. 

It will be perceived, as has been before intimated, that 
Master Sam had a native talent that might, undoubtedly, 
have raised him to eminence in political life, — a talent of 
making capital out of everything that turned up, to be in- 
vested for his own especial praise and glory ; and having 
done up his piety and humility, as he trusted, to the satis- 
faction of the parlor, he clapped his palm-leaf on his head, 
with a sort of rakish, free-and-easy air, and proceeded to 
the dominions of Aunt Chloe, with the intention of flour- 
ishing largely in the kitchen. 

I’ll speechify these yer niggers,” said Sam to himself, 

now I’ve got a chance. Lord, I’ll reel it off to make 
’em stare ! ” 

It must be observed that one of Sam’s especial delights 
had been to ride in attendance on his master to all kinds 
of political gatherings, where, roosted on some rail fence, 
or perched aloft in some tree, he would sit watching the 
orators, with the greatest apparent gusto, and then descend- 
ing among the various brethren of his own color, assembled 
on the same errand, he would edify and delight them with 
the most ludicrous burlesques and imitations, all delivered 
with the most imperturbable earnestness and solemnity ; 
and though the auditors immediately about him were gen- 
erally of his own color, it not unfrequently happened that 
they were fringed pretty deeply with those of a fairer com- 
plexion, who listened, laughing and winking, to Sam’s 
great self-congratulation. In fact, Sam considered oratory 
as his vocation, and never let slip an opportunity of mag- 
nifying his office. 

How, between Sam and Aunt Chloe there had existed, 
from ancient times, a sort of chronic feud, or rather a de- 
cided coolness ; but, as Sam was meditating something in 
the provision department, as the necessary and obvious 


84 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


foundation of his operations, he determined, on the present 
occasion, to be eminently conciliatory ; for he well knew 
that although Missis^ orders would undoubtedly be fol- 
lowed to the letter, yet he should gain a considerable deal 
by enlisting the spirit also. He therefore appeared before 
Aunt Chloe with a touchingly subdued, resigned expres- 
sion, like one who has sulfered immeasurable hardships in 
behalf of a persecuted fellow-creature — enlarged upon the 
fact that Missis had directed, him to come to Aunt Chloe 
for whatever might be wanting to make up the balance in 
his solids and fluids, — and thus unequivocally acknowledged 
her right and supremacy in the cooking department, and 
all thereto pertaining. 

The thing took accordingly. No poor, simple, virtuous 
body was ever cajoled by the attentions of an electioneering 
politician with more ease than Aunt Chloe was won over 
by Master Sam^s suavities ; and if he had been the prodigal 
son himself, he could not have been overwhelmed with 
more maternal bountifulness ; and he soon found himself 
seated, happy and glorious, over a large tin pan, containing 
a sort of olla podrida of all that had appeared on the table 
for two or three days past. Savory morsels of ham, golden 
blocks of corn-cake, fragments of pie of every conceivable 
mathematical figure, chicken wings, gizzards, and drum- 
sticks, all appeared in picturesque confusion ; and Sam, as 
monarch of all he surveyed, sat with his palm-leaf cocked 
rejoicingly to one side, and patronizing Andy at his right 
hand. 

The kitchen was full of all his compeers, who had hurried 
and crowded in, from the various cabins, to hear the ter- 
mination of the day^s exploits. Now was Sanies hour of 
glory. The story of the day was rehearsed, with all kinds 
of ornament and varnishing which might be necessary to 
heighten its effect ; for Sam, like some of our fashionable 
dilettanti, never allowed a story to lose any of its gilding 
by passing through his hands. Eoars of laughter attended 
the narration, and were taken up and prolonged by all the 
smaller fry, who were lying, in any quantity, about on the 
floor, or perched in every corner. In the height of the up- 
roar and laughter, Sam, however, preserved an immovable 
gravity, only from time to time rolling his eyes up, and 
giving his auditors divers Inexpressibly droll glances, with- 
out departing from the sententious elevation of his oratory. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


85 


^^Yer see, fellow-countrymen,^^ said Sam, elevating a 
turkey^s leg, with energy, ^^yer see now, what dis yer 
chile^s up ter, for ^fendin^ yer all, — yes, all on yer. For 
him as tries to get one o^ our people, is as good as tryin^ to 
get all ; yer see the principled’s de same, — dat ar^^s clar. 
And any one ^o these yer drivers that comes smelling round 
arter any our people, why, he^^s got me in his way ; Fm the 
feller he^s got to set in with, — Vm the feller for yer all to 
come to, bredren, — Fll stand up for yer rights, — Fll ^fend 
^em to the last breath ! " 

Why, but Sam, yer telled me, only this morning that 
you^’d help this yer Masd’r to cotch ^Lizy ; seems to me yer 
talk don^t hang together, said Andy. 

I tell yer now, Andy,^^ said Sam, with awful superiority, 
don^t yer be a-talkin^ what yer don^^t know nothin^ 
on ; boys like you, Andy, means well, but they can^t be 
spected to collusitate the great principles of action. 

Andy looked rebuked, particularly by the hard word 
collusitate, which most of the youngerly members of the 
company seemed to consider as a settler in the case, while 
Sam proceeded. 

Dat ar was conscience ^ Andy ; when I thought of gwine 
arter ^Lizy, I railly spected Mash was sot dat way. When 
I found Missis was sot the contrar, dat ar was conscience 
more yet, — cause fellers allers gets more by stickin^ to 
Missis^ side, — so yer see Fs persistent either way, and sticks 
up to conscience, and holds on to principles. Yes, 'prin- 
ciples,” said Sam, giving an enthusiastic toss to a chickenh 
neck, — whaFs principles good for, if we isnh persistent, 
I wanter know ? Thar, Andy, you may have dat ar bone, 
— '’tanh picked quite clean. 

Samh audience hanging on his words with open mouth, 
he could not but proceed. 

Dis yer matter hout persistence, feller-niggers,^^ said 
Sam, with the air of one entering into an abstruse subject, 
dis yer histencyh a thing what anh seed into very clar, 
by most anybody. Now, yer see, when a feller stands up 
for a thing one day and night, de contrar de next, folks 
ses (and nathally enough dey ses), why he anT persistent, 
— hand me dat ar bit o^ corn-cake, Andy. But leFs look 
inter it. I hope the gendmen and der fair sex will sense 
my usin^ an oFnary sort o^ ^parison. Here ! Fm a-tryin^ 
to get top o^ der hay. Wal, I puts up my larder dis yer 


86 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, 


side ; ^tan^t no go ; — den, cause I don’t try dere no more, 
but puts my larder right de contrar side, an’t I persistent ? 
Fm persistent in wantin’ to get up which ary side my 
larder is ; don’t you see, all on yer ? ” 

It’s the only thing ye ever was persistent in. Lord 
knows ! ” muttered Aunt Chloe, who was getting rather 
restive ; the merriment of the evening being to her some- 
what after the Scripture comparison, — like vinegar upon 
nitre.” 

Yes, indeed ! ” said Sam, rising, full of supper and 
glory, for a closing effort. Yes, my feller-citizens and 
ladies of de other sex in general, I has principles, — I’m 
proud to oon ’em, — they’s perquisite to dese yer times, and 
ter all times. I has principles, and I sticks to ’em like 
forty, — jest anything that I thinks is principle, I goes in 
to’t ; — I wouldn’t mind if dey burnt me ’live, — I’d walk 
right up to de stake, I would, and say, here I comes to 
shed my last blood fur my principles, fur my country, fur 
der gen’l interests of s’ciety.” 

Well,” said Aunt Chloe, one ’o yer principles will 
have to be to get to bed some time to-night, and not be a- 
keepin’ everybody up till mornin’ ; now, every one of you 
young uns that don’t want to be cracked, had better be 
scase, mighty sudden.” 

Niggers ! all on yer,” said Sam, waving his palm-leaf 
with benignity, I give yer my hlessin’ ; go to bed now, 
and be good boys.” 

And, with this pathetic benediction, the assembly dis- 
persed. 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN VTHICH IT APPEAKS THAT A SENATOR IS BUT A MAN. 

The light of the cheerful fire shone on the rug and car- 
pet of a cosy parlor, and glittered on the sides of the 
tea-cups and well-brightened teapot, as Senator Bird 
was drawing off his boots, preparatory to inserting his feet 
in a pair of new handsome slippers, which his wife had been 
working for him while away on his senatorial tour. Mrs. 
Bird, looking the very picture of delight, was superintend- 
ing the arrangements of the table, ever and anon mingling 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


87 


admonitory remarks to a number of frolicsome juveniles, 
who were effervescing in all those modes of untold gambol 
and mischief that have astonished mothers ever since the 
flood. 

Tom, let the door-knob alone, — there^’s a man ! Mary ! 
Mary ! donT pull the cab’s tail, — poor pussy ! Jim, you 
mustnT climb on that table, — no, no ! — You don^t know, 
my dear, what a surprise it is to us all, to see you here 
to-night ! ” said she, at last, when she found a space to say 
something to her husband. 

Yes, yes, I thought Fd just make a run down, spend 
the night, and have a little comfort, at home. Fm tired to 
death, and my head aches ! 

Mrs. Bird cast a glance at a camphor-bottle, which stood 
in the half -open closet, and appeared to meditate an ap- 
proach to it, but her husband interposed. 

^^N'o, no, Mary, no doctoring ! a cup of your good hot 
tea, and some of our good home living, is what I want. IFs 
a tiresome business, this legislating ! 

And the senator smiled, as if he rather liked the idea of 
considering himself a sacriflce to his country. 

Well,^^ said his wife, after the business of the tea-table 
was getting rather slack, and what have they been doing 
in the Senate 

Now, it was a very unusual thing for gentle little Mrs. 
Bird ever to trouble her head with what was going on in 
the house of the state, very wisely considering that she had 
enough to do to mind her own. Mr. Bird, therefore, 
opened his eyes in surprise, and said, 

^^Not very much of importance.” 

Well ; but is it true that they have been passing a law 
forbidding people to give meat and drink to those poor 
colored folks that come along ? I heard they were talking 
of some such law, but I didnT think any Christian legis- 
lature would pass it ! ” 

Why, Mary, you are getting to be a politician, all at 
once.” 

No, nonsense ! I wouldnT give a flp for all your poli- 
tics, generally, but I think this is something downright 
cruel and unchristian. I hope, my dear, no such law has 
been passed.” 

There has been a law passed forbidding people to help 
off the slaves that come over from Kentucky, my dear ; so 


88 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


much of that thing has been done by these reckless Aboli- 
tionists, that our brethren in Kentucky are very strongly 
excited, and it seems necessary, and no more than Christian 
and kind, that something should be done by our state to 
quiet the excitement/^ 

And what is the law ? It don^t forbid us to shelter 
these poor creatures a night, does it, and to give ^em some- 
thing comfortable to eat, and a few old clothes, and send 
them quietly about their business ? 

Why, yes, my dear ; that would be aiding and abetting, 
you know." 

Mrs. Bird was a timid, blushing little woman, of about 
four feet in height, and with mild blue eyes, and a peach- 
blow complexion, and the gentlest, sweetest voice in the 
world ; as for courage, a moderate-sized cock-turkey had 
been known to put her to rout at the very first gobble, and 
a stout house-dog, of moderate capacity, would bring her 
into subjection merely by a show of his teeth. Her hus- 
band and children were her entire world, and in these she 
ruled more by entreaty and persuasion than by command 
or argument. There was only one thing that was capable 
of arousing her, and that provocation came in on the side 
of her unusually gentle and sympathetic nature ; — anything 
in the shape of cruelty would throw her into a passion, 
which was the more alarming and inexplicable in propor- 
tion to the general softness of her nature. Generally the 
most indulgent and easy to be entreated of all mothers, 
still her boys had a very reverent remembrance of a most 
vehement chastisement she once bestowed on them, because 
she found them leagued with several graceless boys of the 
neighborhood, stoning a defenceless kitten. 

Ifil tell you what," Master Bill used to say, I was 
scared that time. Mother came at me so that I thought 
she was crazy, and I was whipped and tumbled off to bed, 
without any supper, before I could get over wondering 
what had come about ; and, after that, I heard mother cry- 
ing outside the door, which made me feel worse than all the 
rest, ril tell you what," he’d say, ^Sve boys never stoned 
another kitten ! " 

On the present occasion, Mrs. Bird rose quickly, with 
very red cheeks, which quite improved her general appear- 
ance, and walked up to her husband, with quite a resolute 
air, and said, in a determined tone. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 8& 

Now, John, I want to know if you think such a law as 
that is right and Christian ? ” 

You won't shoot me, now, Mary, if I say I do ! " 

I never could have thought it of you, John ; you didn't 
vote for it ? " 

Even so, my fair politician." 

You ought to he ashamed, John ! Poor, homeless, 
houseless creatures ! It's a shameful, wicked, abominable 
law, and I'll break it, for one, the first time I get a chance ; 
and I hope I shall have a chance, I do ! Things have got 
to a pretty pass, if a woman can't give a warm supper and 
a bed to poor, starving creatures. Just because they are 
slaves, and have been abused and oppressed all their lives, 
poor things ! " 

^^But, Mary, just listen to me. Your feelings are all 
quite right, dear, and interesting, and I love you for them ; 
but, then, dear, we mustn't suffer our feelings to run 
away with our judgment ; you must consider it's not a 
matter of private feeling, — there are great public interests 
involved, — there is such a state of public agitation rising, 
that we must put aside our private feelings." 

Now, John, I don't know anything about politics, but 
I can read my Bible ; and there I see that I must feed the 
hungry, clothe the naked, and comfort the desolate ; and 
that Bible I mean to follow." 

But in cases where your doing so would involve a great 
public evil " 

Obeying Cod never brings on public evils. I know 
it can't. It's always safest, all round, to do as He bids 
us." 

Now, listen to me, Mary, and I can state to you a very 
clear argument, to show " 

0, nonsense, John ! you can talk all night, but you 
wouldn't do it. I put it to you, John, — would you now 
turn away a poor, shivering, hungry creature from your 
door, because he was a runaway ? Would you, now ? " 
Now, if the truth must be told, our senator had the mis- 
fortune to be a man who had a particularly humane and 
accessible nature, and turning away anybody that was in 
trouble never had been his forte ; and what was worse for 
him in this particular pinch of the argument was, that his 
wife knew it, and, of course, was making an assault on 
rather an indefensible point. So he had recourse to the 


90 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


usual means of gaining time for such cases made and pro- 
vided ; he said and coughed several times, took 

out his pocket-handkerchief, and began to wipe his glasses. 
Mrs. Bird, seeing the defenceless condition of the enemy^s 
territory, had no more conscience than to push her ad- 
vantage. 

^‘1 should like to see you doing that, John — I really 
should ! Turning a woman out of doors in a snow-storm, for 
instance ; or, may be youM take her up and put her in jail, 
wouldnT you ? You would make a great hand at that ! 

Of course, it would be a very painful duty,^^ began 
Mr. Bird, in a moderate tone. 

Duty, John ! donT use that word ! You know it isnT 
a duty — it canT be a duty ! If folks want to keep their 
slaves from running away, let Ym treat Ym well, — that^s 
my doctrine. If I had slaves (as I hope I never shall 
have), Fd risk their wanting to run away from me, or you 
either, J ohn. I tell you folks donT run away when they 
are happy : and when they do run, poor creatures ! they 
suffer enough with cold and hunger and fear, without 
everybody^’s turning against them ; and, law or no law, I 
never will, so help me God ! 

Mary ! Mary ! My dear,' let me reason with you.'’^ 

I hate reasoning, John, — especially reasoning on such 
subjects. There^s a way you political folk have of coming 
round and round a plain right thing ; and you donT 
believe in it yourselves, when it comes to practice. I 
know you well enough, John. You donT believe iFs right 
any more than I do ; and you wouldnT do it any sooner 
than I.” 

At this critical juncture, old Cudjoe, the black man-of- 
all-work, put his head in at the door, and wished Missis 
would come into the kitchen ; ” and our senator, tolerably 
relieved, looked after his little wife with a whimsical mix- 
ture of amusement and vexation, and, seating himself in 
the arm-chair, began to read the papers. 

After a moment, his wife^s voice was heard at the door, 
in a quick, earnest tone, — John ! John ! I do wish youM 
come here, a moment.'’^ 

He laid down his paper, and went into the kitchen, and 
started, quite amazed at the sight that presented itself : — 
A young and slender woman, with garments torn and 
frozen, with one shoe gone, and the stocking torn away 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


91 


from the cut and bleeding foot, was laid bach in a deadly 
swoon upon two chairs. There was the impress of the 
despised race on her face, yet none could help feeling its 
mournful and pathetic beauty, while its stony sharpness, its 
cold, fixed, deathly aspect, struck a solemn chill over him. 
He drew his breath short, and stood in silence. His wife, 
and their only colored domestic, old Aunt Dinah, were 
busily engaged in restorative measures ; while old Cud joe 
had got the boy on his knee, and was busy pulling oif his 
shoes and stockings, and chafing his little cold feet. 

Sure, now, if she anT a sight to behold ! said old 
Dinah, compassionately; '’pears like Twas the heat that 
made her faint. She was tollable peart when she cum in, 
and asked if she couldnT warm herself here a spell ; and I 
was just a askin'’ her where she cum from, and she fainted 
right down. Hever done much hard work, guess, by the 
looks of her hands. 

Poor creature ! '’'’ said Mrs. Bird, compassionately, as 
the woman slowly unclosed her large, dark eyes, and looked 
vacantly at her. Suddenly an expression of agony crossed 
her face, and she sprang up, saying, ^^0, my Harry ! 
Have they got him ? ^ 



here ! she exclaimed. 

0 ma^am \ said she, wildly, to Mrs. Bird, "^do pro- 
tect us ! donT let them get him ! '’^ 

Hobody shall hurt you here, poor woman, said Mrs. 
Bird, encouragingly. You are safe ; don'’t be afraid. 

God bless you ! said the woman, covering her face 
and sobbing ; while the little boy, seeing her crying, tried 
to get into her lap. 

With many gentle and womanly offices, which none knew 
better how to render than Mrs. Bird, the poor woman was, 
in time, rendered more calm. A temporary bed was pro- 
vided for her on the settle, near the fire ; and, after a 
short time, she fell into a heavy slumber, with the child, 
who seemed no less weary, soundly sleeping on her arm ; 
for the mother resisted, with nervous anxiety, the kindest 
attempts to take him from her ; and, even in sleep, her 
arm encircled him with an unrelaxing clasp, as if she could 
not even then be beguiled of her vigilant hold. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bird had gone back to the parlor, where. 


92 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


strange as it may appear, no reference was made, on either 
side, to the preceding conversation ; but Mrs. Bird busied 
herself with her knitting- work, and Mr. Bird pretended to 
be reading the paper. 

I wonder who and what she is ! ” said Mr. Bird, at last, 
as he laid it down. 

When she wakes up and feels a little rested, we will 
see," said Mrs. Bird. 

I say, wife ! " said Mr. Bird, after musing in silence 
over his newspaper. 

^^Well, dear?" 

She couldn^h wear one of your gowns, could she, by 
any letting down, or such matter ? She seems to be rather 
larger than you are." 

A quiet perceptible smile glimmered on Mrs. Bird^s face, 
as she answered, We"ll see." 

Another pause, and Mr. Bird again broke out, 

I say, wife ! " 

^^Well! What now?" 

Why, there's that old bombazine cloak, that you keep 
on purpose to put over me when I take my afternoon's 
nap ; you might as well give her that, — she needs clothes." 

At this instant, Dinah looked in to say that the woman 
was awake, and wanted to see Missis. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bird went into the kitchen, followed by 
the two eldest boys, the smaller fry having, by this time, 
been safely disposed of in bed. 

The woman was now sitting up on the settle, by the fire. 
She was looking steadily into the blaze, with a calm, heart- 
broken expression, very different from her former agitated 
wildness. 

Did you want me ? " said Mrs. Bird, in gentle tones. 

I hope you feel better now, poor woman ! " 

A long-drawn, shivering sigh was the only answer ; but 
she lifted her dark eyes, and fixed them on her with such 
a forlorn and imploring expression, that the tears came 
into the little woman's eyes. 

You needn't be afraid of anything ; we are friends 
here, poor woman ! Tell me where you came from, and 
what you want," said she. 

I came from Kentucky," said the woman. 

When ?" said Mr. Bird, taking up the interrogatory. 

To-night." 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


93 


How did you come ? 

I crossed on the ice.” 

Crossed on the ice ! ” said every one present. 

^‘^Yes,” said the woman, slowly, ‘^1 did. Cod helping 
me, I crossed on the ice ; for they were behind me — right 
behind — and there was no other way ! ” 

Law, Missis,” said Cndjoe, the ice is all in broken- 
up blocks, a swinging and a tetering up and down in the 
water ! ” 

^ I know it was — I know it ! ” said she, wildly ; but I 
did it ! I wouldn^t have thought I could, — I didn^t think 
I should get over, but I didn't care ! I could but die, if 
I didn't. The Lord helped me ; nobody knows how much 
the Lord can help 'em, till they try,” said the woman, with 
a flashing eye. 

Were you a slave ?” said Mr. Bird. 

Yes, sir ; I belonged to a man in Kentucky.” 

Was he unkind to you ?” 

^^Ko, sir ; he was a good master.” 

And was your mistress unkind to you ? ” 

^^Ko, sir — no ! my mistress was always good to me.” 

^^What could induce you to leave a good home, then, 
and run away, and go through such dangers ? ” 

The woman looked up at Mrs. Bird with a keen, scru- 
tinizing glance, and it did not escape her that she was 
dressed in deep mourning. 

Ma'am,” she said, suddenly, have you ever lost a 
child ? ” 

The question was unexpected, and it was a thrust on a 
new wound ; for it was only a month since a darling child 
of the family had been laid in the grave. 

Mr. Bird turned around and walked to the window, and 
Mrs. Bird burst into tears ; but, recovering her voice, she 
said. 

Why do you ask that ? I have lost a little one.” 

Then you will feel for me. I have lost two, one after 
another, — left 'em buried there when I came away ; and 
I had only this one left. I never slept a night without 
him ; he was all I had. He was my comfort and pride, 
day and night ; and, ma'am, they were going to take him 
away from me, — to sell him, — sell him down south, ma'am, 
to go all alone, — a baby that had never been away from his 
mother in his life ! I couldn't stand it, ma'am. I knew 1 


94 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


never should he good for anything, if they did ; and when 
I knew the papers were signed, and he was sold, I took him 
and came off in the night ; and they chased me, — the man 
that bought him, and some of Maser’s folks, — and they 
were coming down right behind me, and I heard ^em. I 
jumped right on to the ice ; and how I got across, I don^t 
know, — hut, first I knew, a man was helping me up the 
bank/^ 

The woman did not sob nor weep. She had gone to a 
place where tears are dry ; hut every one around her was, 
in some way characteristic of themselves, showing signs of 
hearty sympathy. 

The two little hoys, after a desperate rummaging in their 
pockets, in search of those pocket-handkerchiefs which 
mothers know are never to he found there, had thrown 
themselves disconsolately into the skirts of their mo therms 
gown, where they were sobbing, and wiping their eyes and 
noses, to their hearts^ content ; — Mrs. Bird had her face 
fairly hidden in her pocket-handkerchief ; and old Dinah, 
with tears streaming down her black, honest face, was 
ejaculating, Lord have mercy on us ! " with all the fervor 
of a camp-meeting ; — while old Cud joe, rubbing his eyes 
very hard with his cuffs, and making a most uncommon 
variety of wry faces, occasionally responded in the same 
key, with great fervor. Our senator was a statesman, and 
of course could not he expected to cry, like other mortals ; 
and so he turned his hack to the company, and looked out 
of the window, and seemed particularly busy in clearing 
his throat and wiping his spectacle-glasses, occasionally 
blowing his nose in a manner that was calculated to excite 
suspicion, had any one been in a state to observe critically. 

How came you to tell me you had a kind master ? he 
suddenly exclaimed, gulping down very resolutely some 
kind of rising in his throat, and turning suddenly round 
upon the woman. 

Because he was a kind master ; Ifil say that of him, 
any way ; — and my mistress was kind ; but they couldnT 
help themselves. They were owing money ; and there was 
some way, I can’t tell how, that a man had a hold on them, 
and they were obliged to give him his will. I listened, and 
heard him telling mistress that, and she begging and plead- 
ing for me, — and he told her he couldn’t help himself, and 
that the papers wer^ all drawn ; — and then it was I took 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


95 


him and left my home, and came away. I knew ^twas no 
use of my trying to live, if they did it ; for ^t Spears like 
this child is all I have."’^ 

Have you no husband ? 

Yes, but he belongs to another man. His master is 
real hard to him, and won^t let him come to see me, hardly 
ever ; and he^’s grown harder and harder upon us, and he 
threatens to sell him down south ; — it^s like Til never see 
him again ! ” 

The quiet tone in which the woman pronounced these 
words might have led a superficial observer to think that 
she was entirely apathetic ; but there was a calm, settled 
depth of anguish in her large, dark eye, that spoke of some- 
thing far otherwise. 

And where do you mean to go, my poor woman said 
Mrs. Bird. 

To Canada, if I only knew where that was. Is it very 
far oil, is Canada ? ” said she, looking up, with a simple, 
confiding air, to Mrs. Bird^s face. 

Poor thing ! said Mrs. Bird, involuntarily. 

“IsT a very great way off, think ?” said the woman, 
earnestly. 

Much further than you think, poor child ! said Mrs. 
Bird ; but we will try to think what can be done for you. 
Here, Dinah, make her up a bed in your own room, close 
by the kitchen, and Ifil think what to do for her in the 
morning. Meanwhile, never fear, poor woman ; put your 
trust in God ; he will protect you.'’^ 

Mrs. Bird and her husband re-entered the parlor. She 
sat down in her little rocking-chair before the fire, sway- 
ing thoughtfully to and fro. Mr. Bird strode up and 
down the room, grumbling to himself, Pish ! pshaw 1 con- 
founded awkward business ! ” At length, striding up to 
his wife, he said, 

I say, wife, shefilhave to get away from here, this very 
night. That fellow will be down on the scent bright and 
early to-morrow morning ; if Twas only the woman, she could 
lie quiet till it was over ; but that little chap canT be kept 
still by a troop of horse and foot, Ifil warrant me ; hefil 
bring it all out, popping his head out of some window or 
door. A pretty kettle of fish it would be for me, too, to 
be caught with them both here, just now ! No ; they^i] 
have to be got off to-night. 


96 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


To-night ! How is it possible ? — where to ? 

Well, I know pretty well where to,^^ said the senator, 
beginning to put on his boots, with a reflective air ; and, 
stopping when his leg was half in, he embraced his knee 
with both hands, and seemed to go off in deep medita- 
tion. 

It^s a confounded awkward, ugly business,” said he, 
at last, beginning to tug at his boots-straps again, ^^and 
that^s a fact ! ” After one boot was fairly on, the senator 
sat with the other in his hand, profoundly studying the 
flgure of the carpet. It will have to be done, though, 
for aught I see, — hang it all ! ” and he drew the other boot 
anxiously on, and looked out of the window. 

How, little Mrs. Bird was a discreet woman, — a woman who 
never in her life said, I told you so !”and, on the present 
occasion, though pretty well aware of the shape her hus- 
band^s meditations were taking, she very prudently forbore 
to meddle with them, only sat very quietly in her chair, and 
looked quite ready to hear her liege lord^’s intentions, when 
he should think proper to utter them. 

^^You see,” he said, ^^there^s my old client. Van Trompe, 
has come over from Kentucky, and set all his slaves free ; 
and he has bought a place seven miles up the creek, here, 
back in the woods, where nobody goes, unless they go on 
purpose ; and it^s a place that isnT found in a hurry. 
There sheM be safe enough ; but the plague of the 
thing is, nobody could drive a carriage there to-night, but 
me.” 

Why not ? Cud joe is an excellent driver.” 

Ay, ay, but here it is. The creek has to be crossed 
twice ; and the second crossing is quite dangerous, un- 
less one knows it as I do. I have crossed it a hundred 
times on horseback, and know exactly the turns to take. 
And so, you see, there^s no help for it. Cudjoe must put 
in the horses, as quietly as may be, about twelve oYlock, 
and ril take her over ; and then, to give color to the mat- 
ter, he must carry me on to the next tavern, to take the 
stage for Columbus, that comes by about three or four, 
and so it will look as if I had had the carriage only for 
that. I shall get into business bright and early in the 
morning. But I^m thinking I shall feel rather cheap 
there, after all that^s been said and done ; but, hang it, I 
can't help it ! ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


97 


Yonr heart is better than your head, in this case, John,” 
said the wife, laying her little white hand on his. Could 
I ever have loved you, had I not known you better thun 
vou know yourself ? ” And the little woman looked so 
handsome, with the tears sparkling in her eyes, that the 
senator thought he must be a decidedly clever fellow, to 
get such a pretty creature into such a passionate admira- 
tion of him ; and so, what could he do hut walk olf so- 
berly, to see about the carriage. At the door, however, he 
stopped a moment, and then coming back, he said, with 
some hesitation, 

Mary, I don^t know how youM feel about it, but there^s 
that drawer full of things — of — of — poor little Henryks.” 
So saying, he turned quickly on his heel, and shut the door 
after him. 

His wife opened the little bedroom door adjoining her 
room, and, taking the candle, set it down on the top of a 
bureau there ; then from a small recess she took a key, and 
put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, and made a 
sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy like, had followed 
close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant 
glances, at their mother. And oh ! mother that reads this, 
has there never been in your house a drawer, or a closet, 
the opening of which has been to you like the opening 
again of a little grave ? Ah ! happy mother that you are, 
if it has not been so. 

Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little 
coats of many a form and pattern piles of aprons, and rows 
of small stockings ; and even a pair of little shoes, worn 
and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from the folds of a 
paper. There was a toy horse and wagon, a top, a ball, — 
memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heart- 
break ! She sat down by the drawer, and, leaning her 
head on her hands over it, wept till the tears fell through 
her fingers into the drawer ; then suddenly raising her 
head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest 
and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a 
bundle. 

Mamma,” said one of the boys, gently touching hei 
arm, are you going to give away those things ? ” 

My dear boys,” she said, softly and earnestly, if our 
dear, loving little Henry looks down from heaven, he would 
be glad to have us do this. I could not find it in my heart 
7 


98 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


to give them away to any common person — to anybody that 
was happy ; but I give them to a mother more heart-broken 
and sorrowful than I am ; and 1 hope God will send his 
blessings with them ! 

There are in this world blessed souls, whose sorrows all 
spring up into joys for others ; whose earthly hopes, laid in 
the grave with many tears, are the seed from which spring 
healing flowers and balm for the desolate and the distressed. 
Among such was the delicate woman who sits there by the 
lamp, dropping slow tears, while she prepares the memo- 
rials of her own lost one for the outcast wanderer. 

After a while, Mrs. Bird opened a wardrobe, and, tak- 
ing from thence a plain, serviceable dress or two, she sat 
down busily to her work-table, and, with needle, scissors, 
and thimble at hand, quietly commenced the letting 
down^^ process which her husband had recommended, and 
continued busily at it till the old clock in the corner struck 
twelve, and she heard the low rattling of wheels at the 
door. 

Mary,” said her husband, coming in, with his over- 
coat in his hand, ^‘^you must wake her up now ; we must 
be off.” 

Mrs. Bird hastily deposited the various articles she had 
collected in a small plain trunk, and locking it, desired 
her husband to see it in the carriage, and then proceeded 
to call the woman. Soon, arrayed in a cloak, bonnet, and 
shawl, that had belonged to her benefactress, she appeared 
at the door with her child in her arms. Mr. Bird hurried 
her into the carriage, and Mrs. Bird pressed on after her 
to the carriage steps. Eliza leaned out of the carriage, 
and put out her hand, — a hand as soft and beautiful as 
was given in return. She flxed her large, dark eyes, full 
of earnest meaning, on Mrs. Bird^s face, and seemed going 
to speak. Her lips moved, — she tried once or twice, but 
there was no sound, — and pointing upward, with a look 
never to be forgotten, she fell back in the seat, and covered 
her face. The door was shut, and the carriage drove on. 

What a situation, now, for a patriotic senator, that had 
been all the week before spurring up the legislature of his 
native state to pass more stringent resolutions against 
escaping fugitives, their harborers and abettors ! 

Our go6d senator in his native state had not been ex- 
ceeded by any of his brethren at Washington, in the sort of 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


99 


eloquence which has won for them immortal renown ! 
How sublimely he had sat with his hands in his pockets, 
and scouted all sentimental weakness of those who would 
put the welfare of a few miserable fugitives before great 
state interests ! 

He was as bold as a lion about it, and mightily con- 
vinced ” not only himself, but everybody that heard him ; 
— but then his idea of a fugitive was only an idea of the 
letters that spell the word, — or, at the most, the image of 
a little newspaper picture of a man with a stick and bun 
die, with Ean away from the subscriber under it. The 
magic of the real presence of distress, — the imploring 
human eye, the frail, trembling human hand, the despair- 
ing appeal of helpless agony, — these he had never tried. 
He had never thought that a fugitive might be a hapless 
mother, a defenceless child, — like that one which was now 
wearing his lost boy’s little well-known cap ; and so, as 
our poor senator was not stone or steel, — as he was a man, 
and a downright noble-hearted one, too, — he was, as every- 
body must see, in a sad case for his patriotism. And you 
need not exult over him, good brother of the Southern 
States ; for we have some inklings that many of you, un- 
der similar circumstances, would not do much better. 
We have reason to know, in Kentucky, as in Mississippi, 
are noble and generous hearts, to whom never was tale of 
suffering told in vain. Ah, good brother ! is it fair for 
you to expect of us services which your own brave, honor- 
able heart would not allow you to render, were you in our 
place ? 

Be that as it may, if our good senator was a political 
sinner, he was in a fair way to expiate it by his night’s pen- 
ance. There had been a long continuous period of rainy 
weather, and the soft, rich earth of Ohio, as every one 
knows, is admirably suited to the manufacture of mud, — 
and the road was an Ohio railroad of the good old times. 

And pray, what sort of a road may that be ? ” says 
some eastern traveller, who has been accustomed to con- 
nect no ideas with a railroad, but those of smoothness or 



Know, then, innocent eastern friend, that in benighted 
regions of the west, where the mud is of unfathomable and 
sublime depth, roads are made of round rough logs, ar- 
ranged transversely side by side, and coated over in their 


100 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


pristine freshness with earth, turf, and whatsoever may 
come to hand, and then the rejoicing native calleth it a 
road, and straightway essayeth to ride thereupon. In pro- 
cess of time, the rains wash off all the turf and grass afore- 
said, move the logs hither and thither, in picturesque 
positions, up, down, and crosswise, with divers chasms and 
ruts of black mud intervening. 

Over such a road as this our senator went stumbling 
along, making moral reflections as continuously as under 
the circumstances could be expected, — the carriage pro- 
ceeding along much as follows, — hump ! hump ! bump ! 
slush ! down in the mud ! — the senator, woman, and child, 
reversing their positions so suddenly as to come, without 
any very accurate adjustment, against the windows of the 
down-hill side. Carriage sticks fast, while Cud joe on the 
outside is heard making a great muster among the horses. 
After various ineffectual pullings and twitchings, just as 
the senator is losing all patience, the carriage suddenly 
rights itself with a bounce, — two front wheels go down into 
another abyss, and senator, woman, and child, all tumble 
promiscuously on to the front seat, — senator's hat is jammed 
over his eyes and nose quite unceremoniously, and he con- 
siders himself fairly extinguished ; — child cries, and Cud joe 
on the outside delivers animated addresses to the horses, 
who are kicking, and floundering, and straining, under re- 
peated cracks of the whip. Carriage springs up, with an- 
other bounce, — down go the hind wheels, — senator, woman, 
and child, fly over on to the back seat, his elbows encount- 
ering her bonnet, and both her feet being jammed into his 
hat, which flies off in the concussion. After a few mo- 
ments the slough " is passed, and the horses stop, panting ; 
— the senator flnds his hat, the woman straightens her bon- 
net and hushes her child, and they brace themselves firmly 
for what is yet to come. 

For a while only the continuous bump ! bump ! inter- 
mingled, just by way of variety, with divers side plunges 
and compound shakes ; and they begin to flatter theni- 
selves that they are not so badly off, after all. At last, 
with a square plunge, which puts all on to their feet and 
then down into their seats with incredible quickness, the 
carriage stops, — and, after much outside commotion. Cud- 
joe appears at the door. 

Please, sir, iPs powerful bad spot, this yer. I don^t 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 101 

know how we^s to get clar out. Fm a-thinkin^ we^ll have 
to be a-gettin^ rails.” 

The senator despairingly steps out, picking gingerly for 
some firm foothold ; down goes one foot an immeasurable 
depth, — he tries to pull it up, loses his balance, and tum- 
bles over into the mud, and is fished out, in a very despair- 
ing condition, by Oudjoe. 

But we forbear, out of sympathy to our readers^ bones. 
Western travellers, who have beguiled the midnight hour 
in the interesting process of pulling down rail fences, to 
pry their carriages out of mudholes, will have a respectful 
and mournful sympathy with our unfortunate hero. We 
beg them to drop a silent tear, and pass on. 

It was full late in the night when the carriage emerged, 
dripping and bespattered, out of the creek, and stood at 
the door of a large farm-house. 

It took no inconsiderable perseverance to arouse the in- 
mates ; but at last the respectable proprietor appeared, and 
undid the door. He was a great, tall, bristling Orson of 
a fellow, full six feet and some inches in his stockings, and 
arrayed in a red flannel hunting-shirt. A very heavy mat 
of sandy hair, in a decidedly tousled condition, and a 
beard of some days^ growth, gave the worthy man an ap- 
pearance, to say the least, not particularly prepossessing. 
He stood for a few minutes holding the candle aloft, and 
blinking on our travellers with a dismal and mystified ex- 
pression that was truly ludicrous. It cost some effort of 
our senator to induce him to comprehend the case fully ; 
and while he is doing his best at that, we shall give him a 
little introduction to our readers. 

Honest old John Van Trompe was once quite a con- 
siderable land-holder and slave-owner in the State of Ken- 
tucky. Having nothing of the bear about him but the 
skin,” and being gifted by nature with a great, honest, 
just heart, quite equal to his gigantic frame, he had been 
for some years witnessing with repressed uneasiness the 
workings of a system equally bad for oppressor and op- 
pressed. At last, one day, John^s great heart had swelled 
altogether too big to wear his bonds any longer ; so he just 
took his pocket-b^ook out of his desk, and went over into 
Ohio, and bought a quarter of a township of good, rich 
land, made out free papers for all his people, — men, 
women, and children, — packed them up in wagons, and 


102 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


sent them off to settle down ; and then honest John turned 
his face up the creek, and sat quietly down on a snug, re- 
tired farm, to enjoy his conscience and his reflections. 

Are you the man that will shelter a poor woman and 
child from slave-catchers ? said the senator, explicitly. 

I rather think I am,^^ said honest John, with some 
considerable emphasis. 

I thought so,^'’ said the senator. 

‘^If there^s anybody comes, said the good man, stretch- 
ing his tdl, muscular form upward, why here I^m ready 
for him : and IVe got sever sons, each six foot high, and 
they’ll be ready for ’em. Give our respects to ’em,” said 
John ; tell ’em it’s no matter how soon they call, — make 
no kinder difference to us,” said John, running his fingers 
through the shock of hair that thatched his head, and 
bursting out into a great laugh. 

Weary, jaded, and spiritless, Eliza dragged herself up 
to the door, with her child lying in a heavy sleep on her 
arm. The rough man held the candle to her face, and 
uttering a kind of compassionate grunt, opened the door 
of a small bedroom adjoining to the large kitchen where 
they were standing, and motioned her to go in. He took 
down a candle, and lighting it, set it upon the table, and 
then addressed himself to Eliza. 

How, I say, gal, you needn’t be a bit afeard, let who 
will come here. I’m up to all that sort o’ thing,” said he, 
pointing to two or three goodly rifles over the mantelpiece ; 

and most people that know me know that ’t wouldn’t be 
healthy to try to get anybody out o’ my house when I’m 
agin it. So now you jist go to sleep now, as quiet as if 
yer mother was a-rockin’ ye,” said he, as he shut the door. 

Why, this is an uncommon handsome ’un,” he said to 
the senator. Ah, well ; handsome ’uns has the greatest 
cause to run, sometimes, if they has any kind o’ feelin’, 
such as decent women should. I know all about that.” 

The senator, in a few words, briefly explained Eliza’s 
history. 

^*^0 ! on ! aw ! now, I want to know ?” said the good 
man, pitifully ; sho ! now sho ! That’s natur now, poor 
crittur ! hunted down now like a deer, — hunted down, jest 
for havin’ natural feelin’s, and doin’ what no kind o’ mother 
could help a-doin’ ! I tell ye what, these yer things make 
me come the nighest to swearin’, now, o’ ’most anything,” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


103 


said honest John, as he wiped his eyes with the hack 
of a great, freckled, yellow hand. ‘^Fll tell yer what, 
stranger, it was years and years before Fd jine the 
church, ^cause the ministers round in our parts used to 
preach that the Bible went in for these ere cuttings up, — 
and I couldn't be up to 'em with their Greek and Hebrew, 
and so I took up agin' 'em, Bible and all. I never jined 
the church till I found a minister that was up to 'em all in 
Greek and all that, and he said right the contrary ; and 
bhen I took right hold, and jined the church, — I did now, 
fact," said John, who had been all this time uncorking 
some very frisky bottled cider, which at this juncture he 
presented. 

Ye'd better jest put up here, now, till daylight," said 
he, heartily, and I'll call up the old woman, and have a 
bed got ready for you in no time." 

Thank you, my good friend," said the senator, I must 
be along, to take the night stage for Columbus." 

Ah ! well, then, if you must. I'll go a piece with you, 
and show you a cross-road that will t^e you there better 
than the road you came on. That road's mighty bad." 

John equipped himself, and, with a lantern in hand, was 
soon seen guiding the senator's carriage towards a road that 
ran down in a hollow, back of his dwelling. When they 
parted, the senator put into his hand a ten-dollar bill. 

It's for her," he said, briefly. 

Ay, ay," said John, with equal conciseness. 

They shook hands, and parted. 


CHAPTEE X. 

THE PKOPEKTY IS CAEKIED OPF. 

The February morning looked gray and drizzling through 
the window of Uncle Tom's cabin. It looked on downcast 
faces, the images of mournful hearts. The little table 
stood out before the Are, covered with an ironing-cloth ; a 
coarse but clean shirt or two, fresh from the iron, hung on 
the back of a chair by the Are, and Aunt Chloe had another 
spread out before her on the table. Carefully she rubbed 
and ironed every fold and every hem, with the most scrupu- 


104 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


lous exactness, every now and then raising her hand to hei 
face to wipe off the tears that were coursing down her 
cheeks. 

Tom sat by, with his Testament open on his knee, and 
his head leaning upon his hand ; but neither spoke. It was 
yet early, and the children lay all asleep together in their 
little rude trundle-bed. 

Tom, who had, to the full, the gentle, domestic heart, 
which, woe for them ! has been a peculiar characteristic 
of his unhappy race, got up and walked silently to look at 
his children. 

If s the last time,^^ he said. 

Aunt Chloe did not answer, only rubbed away over and 
over on the coarse shirt, already as smooth as hands could 
make it ; and finally setting her iron suddenly down with 
a despairing plunge, she sat down to the table, and lifted 
up her voice and wept."*^ 

S^pose we must be resigned ; but oh Lord ! how ken I ? 
If I know^’d anything whar you^s goin,^ or how they^d sarve 
you ! Missis says shedl try and Meem ye, in a year or two ; 
but Lor ! nobody never comes up that goes down thar ! 
They kills ^em ! Fve hearn "’em tell how dey works "’em up 
on dem ar plantations.^^ 

‘^Theredl be the same God there, Chloe, that there is 
here.^^ 

‘‘Well,^^ said Aunt Chloe, ^^s’pose dere will; but de 
Ijord lets drefful things happen, sometimes. I donT seem 
to get no comfort dat way.""^ 

Fm in the Lord^s hands,’’^ said Tom ; nothin^ can go 
no furder than He lets it ; and thar’s one thing I can thank 
Him for. IFs me thaFs sold and going down, and not you 
nur the chiFen. Here youTe safe ; — what comes will come 
only on me ; and the Lord, He’ll help me, — I know He will.” 

Ah, brave, manly heart, — smothering thine own sorrow, 
to comfort thy beloved ones ! Tom spoke with a thick 
utterance, and with a bitter choking in his throat, — but he 
spoke brave and strong. 

Let’s think on our marcies ! ” he added, tremulously, 
as if he was quite sure he needed to think on them very 
hard indeed. 

Marcies ! ” said Aunt Chloe ; don’t see no marcy in’t ! 
’tan’t right ! ’tan’t right it should be so ! Mas’r never 
ought ter left it so that ye could be took for his debts. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


105 


YeVe arnt him all he gets for ye, twice over. He owed ye 
yer freedom, and ought ter gin^t to yer years ago. Mebhe 
he can^’t help himself now, but I feel it^s wrong. Nothing 
can^t heat that ar out o'’ me. Sich a faithful crittur as jeWe 
been, — and allers sot his business ^f ore yer own every way, — 
and reckoned on him more than yer own wife and chiren ! 
Them as sells hearths love and heart’s blood, to get out thar 
scrapes, de Lord’ll be up to ’em ! ” 

Chloe ! now if ye love me, ye won’t talk so, when per- 
haps jest the last time we’ll ever have together ! And I’ll 
tell ye, Chloe, it goes agin me to hear one word agin Mas’r. 
Wan’t he put in my arms a baby ? — it’s natur I should 
think a heap of him. And he couldn’t be spected to think 
so much of poor Tom. Mas’rs is used to havin’ all these yer 
things done for ’em, and nat’lly they don’t think so much 
on’t. They can’t be spected to, no way. Set him ’longside 
of other Mas’rs — who’s had the treatment and the livin’ I’ve 
had ? And he never would have let this yer come on me, 
if he could have seed it aforehand. I know he wouldn’t.” 

Wal, any way, thar’s wrong about it somewhar/^ said 
Aunt Chloe, in whom a stubborn sense of justice was a pre- 
dominant trait ; I can’t jest make out whar ’tis, but 
thar’s wrong somewhar. I’m clar o’ that.” 

Yer ought ter look up to the Lord above — he’s above 
all — thar don’t a sparrow fall without him.” 

It don’t seem to comfort me, but I spect it orter,” 
said Aunt Chloe. But dar’s no use talkin’ ; I’ll jes wet 
up de corn-cake, and get ye one good breakfast, ’cause 
nobody knows when you’ll get another.” 

In order to appreciate the sufferings of the negroes sold 
south, it must be remembered that all the instinctive 
affections of that race are peculiarly strong. Their local 
attachments are very abiding. They are not naturally 
daring and enterprising, but home-loving and affectionate. 
Add to this all the terrors with which ignorance invests 
the unknown, and add to this, again, that selling to the 
south is set before the negro from childhood as the last 
severity of punishment. The threat that terrifies more 
than whipping or torture of any kind is the threat of being 
sent down river. We have ourselves heard this feeling ex- 
pressed by them, and seen the unaffected horror with which 
they will sit in their gossipping hours and tell frightful 
stories of that down river,” which to them is 


106 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


“That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns.” 

A missionary among the fugitives in Canada told us that 
ms-ay of the fugitives confessed themselves to have escaped 
from comparatively kind masters, and that they were 
induced to brave the perils of escape, in almost every case, 
by the desperate horror with which they regarded being 
sold south, — a doom which was hanging either over them- 
selves or their husbands, their wives or children. This 
nerves the African, naturally patient,, timid, and unenter- 
prising, with heroic courage, and leads him to suffer 
hunger, cold, pain, the perils of the wilderness, and the 
more dread penalties of re-capture. 

The simple morning meal now smoked on the table, for 
Mrs. Shelby had excused Aunt Chloe’s attendance at the 
great house that morning. The poor soul had expended 
all her little energies on this farewell feast, — had killed and 
dressed her choicest chicken, and prepared her corn-cake 
with scrupulous exactness, just to her husband^s taste, and 
brought out certain mysterious jars on the mantelpiece, 
some preserves that were never produced except on extreme 
occasions. 

Lor, Pete,” said Mose, triumphantly, hauT we got 
a buster of a breakfast ! ” at the same time catching at a 
fragment of the chicken. 

Aunt Chloe gave him a sudden box on the ear.y Thar 
now ! crowing over the last breakfast yer poOT daddy's 
gwine to have to home ! ” / 

0 Chloe !” said Tom, gently. 

Wal, I canT help it,” said Aunt Chloe, hiding her 
face in her apron ; Ps so tossed about, it makes me act 

The boys stood quite still, looking first at their father 
and then at their mother, while the baby, climbing up her 
clothes, began an imperious, commanding cry. 

Thar ! ” said Aunt Chloe, wiping her eyes and taking 
up the baby; ^^now Ps done, I hope, — now do eat some- 
thing. This yeps my nicest chicken. Thar, boys, ye 
shall have some, poor critturs ! Yer mammy's been cross 
to yer.” 

The boys needed no second invitation, and went in with 
great zeal for the eatables ; and it was well they did so, as 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 107 

otherwise there would have been very little performed to 
any purpose by the party. 

iS’ow/^ said Aunt Chloe, bustling about after break- 
fast, I must put up yer clothes. Jest like as not, hem’ll 
take ^em all away. I know thar ways — mean as dirt, they 
is ! Wal, now, yer flannels for rhumatis is in this corner ; 
so be carful, ^cause there won^t nobody make ye no more. 
Then here’s yer old shirts, and these yer is new ones. I 
toed off these yer stockings last night, and put de ball in 
’em to mend with. But Lor ! who’ll ever mend for ye ? ” 
and Aunt Chloe, again overcome, laid her head on the 
box side, and sobbed. To think on’t ! no crittur to do 
for ye, sick or well ! I don’t railly think I ought ter be 
good now ! ” 

The boys, having eaten everything there was on the 
breakfast-table, began now to take some thought of the 
case ; and, seeing their mother crying, and their father 
looking very sad, began to whimper and put their hands 
to their eyes. Uncle Tom had the baby on his knee, and 
was letting her enjoy herself to the utmost extent, scratch- 
ing his face and pulling his hair, and occasionally break- 
ing out into clamorous explosions of delight, evidently 
arising out of her own internal reflections. 

‘^^Ay, crow away, poor crittur !” said Aunt Chloe; 

ye’ll have to come to it, too ! ye’ll live to see yer hus- 
band sold, or mebbe be sold yerself ; and these yer boys, 
they’s to be sold, I s’pose, too, jest like as not, when dey 
gets good for somethin’ ; an’t no use in niggers havin’ 
nothin’ ! ” 

Here one of the boys called out, Thar’s Missis a-comin 
in ! ” 

She can’t do no good ; what’s she coming for ? ” said 
Aunt Chloe. 

Mrs. Shelby entered. Aunt Chloe set a chair for her 
in a manner decidedly gruff and crusty. She did not seem 
to notice either the action or the manner. She looked pale 
and anxious. 

Tom,” she said, I come to ” and stopping sud- 

denly, and regarding the silent group, she sat down in the 
chair and covering her face with her handkerchief, began 
to sob. 

Lor, now. Missis, don’t — don’t ! ” said Aunt Chloe, 
bursting out in her turn ; and for a few moments they all 


108 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


wept in company. And in those tears they all shed to- 
gether, the high and the lowly, melted away all the heart- 
burnings and anger of the oppressed. 0, ye who visit the 
distressed, do ye know that everything your money can 
buy, given with a cold, averted face, is not worth one hon- 
est tear shed in real sympathy ? 

^^My good fellow,'’^ said Mrs. Shelby, *^^1 can^t give you 
anything to do you any good. If I give you money, it will 
only be taken from you. But I tell you solemnly, and be- 
fore God, that I will keep trace of you, and bring you back 
as soon as I can command the money ; — and, till then, 
trust in God ! 

Here the boys called out that Mas^r Haley was coming, 
and then an unceremonious kick pushed open the door. 
Haley stood there in very ill humor, having ridden hard 
the night before, and being not at all pacified by his ill 
success in re-capturing his prey. 

Come,^^ said he, ^^ye nigger, ye’r ready? Servant, 
ma’am ! ” said he, taking ofi his hat, as he saw Mrs. Shelby. 

Aunt Chloe shut and corded the box, and, getting up, 
looked gruffly on the trader, her tears seeming suddenly 
turned to sparks of fire. 

Tom rose up meekly, to follow his new master, and 
raised up his heavy box on his shoulder. His wife took 
the baby in her arms to go with him to the wagon, and 
the children, still crying, trailed on behind. 

Mrs. Shelby, walking up to the trader, detained him for 
a few moments, talking with him in an earnest manner ; 
and while she was thus talking, the whole family party 
proceeded to a wagon, that stood ready harnessed at the 
door. A crowd of all the old and young hands on the 
place stood gathered around it, to bid farewell to their 
old associate. Tom had been looked up to, both as a head 
servant and a Christian teacher, by all the place, and there 
was much honest sympathy and grief about him, particu- 
larly among the women. 

“ Why, Chloe, you bar it better’n we do ! ” said one of 
the women, who had been weeping freely, noticing the 
gloomy calmness with which Aunt Chloe stood by the 
wagon. 

I’s done my tears ! ” she said, looking grimly at the 
trader, who was coming up. I does not feel to cry ’fore 
dat ar old limb, no how ! ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


109 


Get in ! said Haley to Tom, as he strode through 
the crowd of servants, who looked at him with lowering 
brows. 

Tom got in, and Haley, drawing out from undex the 
wagon seat a heavy paif of shackles, made them fast around 
each ankle. 

A smothered groan of indignation ran through the 
whole circle, and Mrs. Shelby spoke from the verandah, — 

‘^Mr. Haley, I assure you that precaution is entirely 
unnecessary.^^ 

Do'n know, ma^’am ; Fve lost one five hundred dollars 
from this yer place, and I canT afford to run no more 
risks. 

What else could she spect on him ? ” said Aunt Chloe, 
indignantly, while the two boys, who now seemed to com- 
prehend at once their fa therms destiny, clung to her gown, 
sobbing and groaning vehemently. 

Fm sorry, said Tom, that MasT George happened 
to be away.'’^ 

> George had gone to spend two or three days with a com- 
panion on a neighboring estate, and having departed early 
in the morning, before Tom^s misfortune had been made 
public, had left without hearing of it. 

Give my love to MasT George, he said, earnestly. 

Haley whipped up the horse, and, with a steady, mourn- 
ful look, fixed to the last on the old place, Tom was whirled 
away. 

Mr. Shelby at this time was not at home. He had sold 
Tom under the spur of a driving necessity, to get out of 
the power of a man whom he dreaded, — and his first feel- 
ing, after the consummation of the bargain, had been that 
of relief. But his wife^s exposulations awoke his half- 
slumbering regrets ; and Tomb’s manly disinterestedness 
increased the unpleasantness of his feelings. It was in vain 
that he said to himself that he had a right to do it, — that 
everybody did it, — and that some did it without even the 
excuse of necessity ; — he could not satisfy his own feel- 
ings ; and that he might not witness the unpleasant scenes 
of the consummation, he had gone on a short business 
tour up the country, hoping that all would be over before 
he returned. 

Tom and Haley rattled on along the dusty road, whirl- 
ing past every old familiar spot, until the bounds of the 


no 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


estate were fairly passed, and they found themselves out 
on the open pike. After they had ridden about a mile, 
Haley suddenly drew up at the door of a hlacksmith^s shop, 
when, taking out with him a pair of handcuffs, he stepped 
into the shop, to have a little alteration in them. 

These yer’s a little too small for his build, said 
Haley, showing the fetters, and pointing out to Tom. 

Lor ! now, if thar an’t Shelby^s Tom. He hanT sold 
him, now ? said the smith. 

Yes, he has,^'’ said Haley. 

Now, ye donT ! well, reely,^^ said the smith, whoM 
a thought it ! Why, ye neednT go to fetterin^ him up 
this yer way. He’s the faithfullest, best crittur ” 

Yes, yes,” said Haley ; “ but your good fellers are just 
the critturs to want ter run off. Them stupid ones, as 
doesn’t care whar they go, and shifless, drunken ones, as 
don’t care for nothin’, they’ll stick by, and like as not be 
rather pleased to he toted round ; but these yer prime fel- 
lers, they hates it like sin. No way hut to fetter ’em ; got 
legs, — they’ll use ’em, — no mistake.” 

Well,” said the smith, feeling among his tools, them 
plantations down thar, stranger, an’t jest the place a Ken- 
tuck nigger wants to go to ; they dies thar tol’able fast, 
don’t they ? ” 

Wal, yes, tol’ahle fast, ther dying is ; what with the 
’climating and one thing and another, they dies so as to 
keep the market up pretty brisk,” said Haley. 

Wal, now, a feller can’t help thinkin’ it’s a mighty pity 
to have a nice, quiet, likely feller, as good un as Tom is, 
go down to he fairly ground up on one of them ar sugar 
plantations.” 

Wal, he’s got a fa’r chance. I promised to do well by 
him. I’ll get him in house-servant in some good old family, 
and then, if he stands the fever and ’climating, he’ll have 
a berth good as any nigger ought ter ask for.” 

He leaves his wife and chil’en up here, s’pose ? ” 

Yes ; but he’ll get another thar. Lord, thar’s women 
enough everywhar,” said Haley. 

Tom was sitting very mournfully on the outside of the 
shop while this conversation was going on. Suddenly he 
heard the quick, short click of a horse’s hoof behind him ; 
and, before he could fairly awake from his surprise, young 
Master George sprang into the wagon, threw his arms 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. HI 

tnmnltuonsly round his neck, and was sobbing and scolding 
with energy. 

I declare, it^s real mean ! I don^t care what they say, 
any of ^em ! It’s a nasty, mean shame ! If I was a man, 
they shouldn’t do it, — they should not, so ! ” said George, 
with a kind of subdued howl. 

“ 0 Mas’r George ! this does me good ! ” said Tom. 

I couldn’t ba’r to go off without seein’ ye ! It does me 
real good, ye can’t tell ! ” Here Tom made some move- 
ment of his feet, and George’s eye fell on the fetters. 

What a shame ! ” he exclaimed, lifting his hands. “ I’ll 
knock that old fellow down — I will ! ” 

No, you won’t, Mas’r George ; and you must not talk 
so loud. It won’t help me any, to anger him.” 

Well, I won’t, then, for your sake ; but only to think 
of it — isn’t a shame ? They never sent for me, nor sent 
me any word, and, if it hadn’t been for Tom Lincon, I 
shouldn’t have heard it. I tell you, I blew ’em up well, 
all of ’em, at home ! ” 

That ar wasn’t right, I’m ’feard, Mas’r George.” 

‘‘ Can’t help it ! I say it’s a shame ! Look here. Uncle 
Tom,” said he, turning his back to the shop, and speaking 
in a mysterious tone, l^ve brought you my dollar ! ” 

0 ! I couldn’t think o’ takin’ on’t, Mas’r George, no 
ways in the world ! ” said Tom, quite moved. 

But you shall take it !” said George; ^Hook here — I 
told Aunt Chloe I’d do it, and she advised me just to make 
a hole in it, and put a string through, so you could hang 
it round your neck, and keep it out of sight ; else this 
mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want 
to blow him up ! it would do me good ! ” 

No, don’t, Mas’r George, for it won’t do me any 
good.” 

Well, I won’t, for your sake,” said George, busily ty- 
ing his dollar round Tom’s neck ; hut there, now, button 
your coat tight over it, and keep it, and remember, every 
time you see it, that I’ll come down after you, and bring 
you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. 
I told her not to fear ; I’ll see to it, and I’ll tease father’s 
life out, if he don’t do it.” 

0 Mas’r George, ye mustn’t talk so ’bout yer father !” 

Lor, Uncle Tom, I don’t mean anything bad.” 

And now, Mas’r George,” said Tom, ye must be a 


112 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


good boy ; ^member how many hearts is sot on ye. Always 
keep close to yer mother. Don^t be gettin^ into any of 
them foolish ways boys has of gettin^ too big to mind theii 
mothers. Tell ye what, MasT George, the Lord gives good 
many things twice over ; but he donT give ye a mother but 
once. Ye^ll never see sich another woman. Mash* George, 
if ye live to be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on 
to her, and grow up and be a comfort to her, thar^’s my own 
good boy, — you will now, wonT ye ? 

Yes, I will. Uncle Tom,^^ said George, seriously. 

And be careful of yer speaking, MasT George. Young 
boys, when they comes to your age, is wilful, sometimes — 
it^s natur they should be. But real gentlemen, such as I 
hopes you’ll be, never lets fall no words that isn’t ’spectful 
to thar parents. Ye an’t ’fended, Mas’r George ? ” 

No, indeed. Uncle Tom ; you always did give me good 
advice.” 

I’s older, ye know,” said Tom, stroking the boy’s fine, 
curly head with his large, strong hand, but speaking in a 
voice as tender as a woman’s, and I sees all that’s bound 
up in you. 0 Mas’r George, you has everything, — I’arnin’, 
privileges, readin’, writin’, — and you’ll grow up to be a 
great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place 
and your mother and father’ll be so proud on ye ! Be a 
good Mas’r, like yer father ; and be a Christian, like yer 
mother. ’Member yer Creator in the days o’ yer youth* 
Mas’r George.” 

I’ll be real good. Uncle Tom, I tell you,” said George. 
'^I’m t;oing to be first-rater ; and don’t you be discour- 
aged. I’ll have you back to the place, yet. As I told 
Aunt Chloe this morning. I’ll build your house all over, 
and you shall have a room for a parlor with a carpet on it, 
when I’m a man. 0, you’ll have good times yet ! ” 

Haley now came to the door, with the handcuffs in his 
hands. 

Look here, now. Mister,” said George, with an air of 
great superiority, as he got out, ^‘^I shall let father and 
mother know how you treat Uncle Tom ! ” 

‘^You’re welcome,” said the trader. 

I should think you’d be ashamed to spend all your life 
buying men and women, and chaining them, like cattle ! 
I should think you’d feel mean ! ” said George. 

So long as your grand folks wants to buy men and 


LIFE AMONG TEE LOWLY. 113 

women, Fm as good as they is/^ said Haley ; ^tan^’t any 
meaner sellin' on ^em, than ^tis buyin^ ! 

ril never do either, when I’m a man,” said George ; 
“ I’m ashamed, this day, that I’m a Kentuckian. I al- 
ways was proud of it before ; ” and George sat very straight 
on his horse, and looked round with an air, as if he ex- 
pected the state would be impressed with his opinion. 

Well, good-bye, Uncle Tom ; keep a stiff upper lip,” 
said George. 

Good-bye, Mas’r George,” said Tom, looking fondly 
and admiringly at him. God Almighty bless you ! Ah ! 
Kentucky han’t got many like you 1 ” he said, in the ful- 
ness of his heart, as the frank, boyish face was lost to his 
view. Away he went, and Tom looked, till the clatter of 
his horse’s heels died away, the last sound or sight of his 
home. But over his heart there seemed to be a warm spot, 
where those young hands had placed that precious dollar. 
Tom put up his hand, and held it close to his heart. 

^^Kow, I tell ye what, Tom,” said Haley, as he came 
up to the wagon, and threw in the handcuffs, I mean 
to start fa’r with ye, as I gen’ally do with my niggers ; and 
I’ll tell ye now, to begin with, you treat me fa’r, and I’ll 
treat you fa’r ; I an’t never hard on my niggers. Calcu- 
lates to do the best for ’em I can. Kow, ye see, you’d 
better just settle down comfortable, and not be tryin’ no 
tricks ; because nigger’s tricks of all sorts I’m up to, and 
it’s no use. If niggers is quiet, and don’t try to get off, 
they has good times with me ; and if they don’t, why, it’s 
thar fault, and not mine.” 

Tom assured Haley that he had no present intentions 
of rfinning off. In fact, the exhortation seemed rather a 
mperfluous one to a man with a great pair of iron fetters 
m his feet. But Mr. Haley had got in the habit of com- 
mencing his relations with his stock with little exhortations 
ff this nature, calculated, as he deemed, to inspire cheer- 
fulness and confidence, and prevent the necessity of any 
inpleasant scenes. 

And here, for the present, we take our leave of Tom, tt 
pursue the fortunes of other characters in our story. 


8 


114 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


CHAPTER XL 

Ilf WHICH PROPERTY GETS IHTO AH IMPROPER STATE 
OP MIHD. 

It was late in a drizzly afternoon that a traveller alight- 
ed at the door of a small country hotel, in the village of 
N , in Kentucky. In the bar-room he found assem- 

bled quite a miscellaneous company, whom stress of weather 
had driven to harbor, and the place presented the usual 
scenery of such reunions. Great, tall, raw-boned Kentuck- 
ians, attired in hunting-shirts, and trailing their loose 
joints over a vast extent of territory, with the easy lounge 
peculiar to the race, — rifles stacked away in the corner, 
shot-pouches, game-bags, hunting-dogs, and little negroes, 
all rolled together in the corners, — were the character- 
istic features in the picture. At each end of the fire- 
place sat a long-legged gentleman, with his chair tipped 
back, his hat on his head, and the heels of his muddy 
boots reposing sublimely on the mantelpiece, — a position, 
we will inform our readers, decidedly favorable to the turn 
of reflection incident to western taverns, where travellers 
exhibit a decided preference for this particular mode of 
elevating their understandings. 

Mine host, who stood behind the bar, like most of his 
countrymen, was great of stature, good-natured, and loose- 
jointed, with an enormous shock of hair on his head, and 
a great tall hat on the top of that. 

In fact, everybody in the room bore on his head this 
characteristic emblem of many’s sovereignty ; whether it 
were felt hat, palm-leaf, greasy beaver, or fine new chapeau, 
there it reposed with true republican independence. In 
truth, it appeared to he the characteristic mark of every 
individual. Some wore them tipped rakishly to one side 
— these were your men of humor, jolly, free-and-easy 
dogs ; some had them jammed independently down over 
their noses — these were your hard characters, thorough 
men, who, when they wore their hats, imnted to wear 
them, and to wear them just as they had a mind to ; there 
were those who had them set far over back-^wide-awake 


LIFE AMONG TEE LOWLY. 


115 


men, who wanted a clear prospect ; while careless men, 
who did not know, or care, how their hats sat, had them 
shaking about in all directions. The various hats, in fact, 
were quite a Shakspearean study. 

Divers negroes, in very free-and-easy pantaloons, and 
with no redundancy in the shirt line, were scuttling about, 
hither and thither, without bringing to pass any very par- 
ticular results, except expressing a generic willingness to 
turn over everything in creation generally for the benefit 
of MasT and his guests. Add to this picture a jolly, crack- 
ling, rollicking fire, going rejoicingly up a great wide 
chimney, — the outer door and every window being set wide 
open, and the calico window-curtain fiopping and snapping 
in a good stiff breeze of damp raw air, — and you have an 
idea of the jollities of a Kentucky tavern. 

Your Kentuckian of the present day is a good illustra- 
tion of the doctrine of transmitted instincts and peculiar- 
ities. His fathers were mighty hunters, — men who lived 
in the woods, and slept under the free, open heavens, with 
the stars to hold their candles ; and their descendant to 
this day always acts as if the house were his camp, — wears 
his hat at all hours, tumbles himself about, and puts his 
heels on the tops of chairs or mantelpieces, just as his 
father rolled on the greensward, and put his upon trees 
and logs, — keeps all the windows and doors open, winter 
and summer, that he may get air enough for his great 
lungs, — calls everybody stranger, with nonchalant bon- 
homie, and is altogether the frankest, easiest, most jovial 
creature living. 

Into such an assembly of the free and easy our traveller 
entered. He was a short, thick-set man, carefully dressed, 
with a round, good-natured countenance, and something 
rather fussy and particular in his appearance. He was 
very careful of his valise and umbrella, bringing them in 
with his own hands, and resisting, pertinaciously, all offers 
from the various servants to relieve him of them. He 
looked round the bar-room with rather an anxious air, 
and, retreating with his valuables to the warmest corner, 
disposed them under his chair, sat down, and looked rather 
apprehensively up at the worthy whose heels illustrated the 
end of the mantelpiece, who was spitting from right to 
left, with a courage and energy rather alarming to gentle- 
men of weak nerves and particular habits. 


116 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


I say, stranger, how are ye ? ” said the aforesaid gen- 
tleman, firing an honorary salute of tobbacco- juice in the 
direction of the new arrival. 

^^Well, I reckon, was the reply of the other, as he 
dodged, with some alarm, the threatening honor. 

Any news ? said the respondent, taking out a strip 
of tobacco and a large hunting-knife from his pocket. 

Not that I know of,"’"’ said the man. 

Chaw ? ” said the first speaker, handing the old gen- 
tleman a bit of his tobacco, with a decidedly brotherly 
air. 

No, thank ye — it don^t agree with me,^^ said the little 
man, edging off. 

Don^’t, eh ? said the other, easily, and stowing away 
the morsel in his own mouth, in order to keep up the 
supply of tobacco- juice, for the general benefit of society. 

The old gentleman uniformly gave a little start when- 
ever his long-sided brother fired in his direction ; and this 
being observed by his companion, he very good-naturedly 
turned his artillery to another quarter, and proceeded to 
storm one of the fire-irons with a degree of military talent 
fully sufficient to take a city. 

What^s that ? ” said the old gentleman, observing 
some of the company formed in a group around a large 
handbill. 

Nigger advertised ? said one of the company, 
briefiy. 

Mr. Wilson, for that was the old gentleman^s name, 
rose up, and, after carefully adjusting his valise and um- 
brella, proceeded deliberately to take out his spectacles 
and fix them on his nose ; and, this operation being per- 
formed, read as follows : 

“Ran away from the subscriber, my mulatto boy, George. 
Said George six feet in height, a very light mulatto, brown curly 
hair ; is very intelligent, speaks handsomely, can read and write ; 
will probably try to pass for a white man ; is deeply scarred on 
his back and shoulders ; has been branded in his right hand with 
a letter H. 

“ I will give four hundred dollars for him alive, and the same 
sum for satisfactory proof that he has been killed.” 

The old gentleman read this advertisement from end to 
end, in a low voice, as if he were studying it. 

The long-legged veteran, who had been besieging the 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


117 


fire-iron, as before related, now took down his cumbrons 
length, and rearing aloft his tall form, walked up to the 
advertisement, and very deliberately spit a full discharge 
of fobacco- juice on it. 

There's my mind upon that ! " said he, briefly, and sat 
down again. 

Why, now, stranger, what's that for ? " said mine 
host. 

I'd do it all the same to the writer of that ar paper, if 
he was here," said the long man, coolly resuming his old 
employment of cutting tobacco. Any man that owns a 
boy like that, and can't find any better way o' treating on 
him, deserves to lose him. Such papers as these is a 
shame to Kentucky ; that's my mind right out, if anybody 
wants to know ! " 

Well, now, that's a fact," said mine host, as he made an 
entry in his book. 

I've got a gang of boys, sir," said the long man, resum- 
ing his attack on the fire-irons, and I jest tells 'em — 
^ Boys,' says I, — ‘ run now ! dig ! put ! jest when ye want 
to ! I never shall come to look after you ! ' That's the 
way I keep mine. Let 'em know they are free to run any 
time, and it jest breaks up their wanting to. More'n all. 
I've got free papers for 'em aU recorded, in case I gets 
keeled up any o' these times, and they knows it ; and I 
tell ye, stranger, there an't a fellow in our parts gets more 
out of his niggers than I do. Why, my boys have been to 
Cincinnati, with five hundred dollars' worth of colts, and 
brought me back the money, all straight, time and agin. 
It stands to reason they should. Treat 'em like dogs, and 
you'll have dogs' work and dogs' actions. Treat 'em like 
men, and you'll have men's work." And the honest drover, 
in his warmth, endorsed this moral sentiment by firing a 
perfect dejoie at the fireplace. 

I think you're altogether right, friend," said Mr. Wil- 
son ; and this boy described here is a fine fellow — no 
mistake about that. He worked for me some half-dozen 
years in my bagging factory, and he was my best hand, sir. 
He is an ingenious fellow, too ; he invented a machine for 
the cleaning of hemp — a really valuable affair ; it's gone 
into use in several factories. His master holds the patent 
of it." 

I'll warrant ye," said the drover, holds it and makes 


LEASE REMEMBER TO 
WASH YOUR HANDS 
BEFORE YOU READ 
THIS BOOK :: 



118 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


money out of it, and then turns round and brands the boy 
in his right hand. If I had a fair chance, I^d mark him, I 
reckon, so that he^d carry it one while. 

These yer knowin^ boys is allers aggravating and 
sarcy,^^ said a coarse-looking fellow, from the other side of 
the room ; that^s why they gets cut up and marked so. 
If they behaved themselves, they wouldnT.^'’ 

That is to say, the Lord made ^em men, and it^s a hard 
squeeze getting ^em down into beasts, said the drover, 
dryly. 

Bright niggers isnT no kind of Vantage to their 
masters, continued the other, well intrenched, in a coarse, 
unconscious obtuseness, from the contempt of his opponent ; 
^^whatV the use oValents and them things, if you canT get 
the use on ^em yourself ? Why, all the use they make onT 
is to get round you. IVe had one or two of these fellers, 
and I jest sold Vm down river. I knew I^d got to lose Vm, 
first or last, if I didnV."' 

Better send orders up to the Lord, to make you a set, 
and leave out their souls entirely,^’’ said the drover. 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the approach 
of a small one-horse buggy to the inn. It had a genteel 
appearance, and a well-dressed gentlemanly man sat on the 
seat, with a colored servant driving. 

The whole party examined the new-comer with the in- 
terest with which a set of loafers on a rainy day usually 
examine every new-comer. He was very tall, with a dark, 
Spanish complexion, fine, expressive black eyes, and close- 
curling hair, also of a glossy blackness. His well-formed 
aquiline nose, straight thin lips, and the admirable contour 
of his finely-formed limbs, impressed the whole company 
instantly with the idea of something uncommon. He 
walked easily in among the company and with a nod in- 
dicated to his waiter where to place his trunk, bowed to 
the company, and, with his hat in his hand, walked up 
leisurely to the bar, and gave in his name as Henry Butler, 
Oaklands, Shelby County. Turning, with an indifferent 
air, he sauntered up to the advertisement, and read it over. 

Jim,” he said to his man, seems to me we met a 
boy something like this, up at Bernan^s, didiTt we ? ” 

Yes, MasV,” said Jim, ^^only I anT sure about the 
hand.” 

Well, I didnV look, of course,” said the stranger, with 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


119 


a careless yawn. Then, walking up to the landlord, he 
desired him to furnish him with a private apartment, as 
he had some v/riting to do immediately. 

The landlord was all obsequious, and a relay of about 
seven negroes, old and young, male and female, little and 
big, were soon whizzing about, like a covey of partridges, 
bustling, hurrying, treading on each other^s toes, and 
tumbling over each other, in their zeal to get MasT^s room 
ready, while he seated himself easily on a chair in the 
middle of the room, and entered into conversation with the 
man who sat next to him. 

The manufacturer, Mr. Wilson, from the time of the 
entrance of the stranger, had regarded him with an air of 
disturbed and uneasy curiosity. He seemed to himself to 
have met and been acquainted with him somewhere, hut he 
could not recollect. Every few moments, when the man 
spoke, or moved, or smiled, he would start and fix his eyes 
on him, and then suddenly withdraw them, as the bright, 
dark eyes met his with such unconcerned coolness. At 
last, a sudden recollection seemed to flash upon him, for he 
stared at the stranger with such an air of blank amaze- 
ment and alarm, that he walked up to him. 

Mr. AVilson, I think,^^ said he, in a tone of recognition, 
and extending his hand. I beg your pardon, I didnT 
recollect you before. I see you remember me, — Mr. Butler, 
of Oaklands, Shelby County.^' 

Ye — yes — yes, sir,^"* said Mr. Wilson, like one speak- 
ing in a dream. 

Just then a negro hoy entered, and announced that 
MasT^s room was ready. 

Jim, see to the trunks, said the gentleman, negli- 
gently ; then addressing himself to Mr. AVilson, he added 
— should like to have a few moments^ conversation with 
you on business, in my room, if you please. 

Mr. Wilson followed him, as one who walks in his sleep ; 
and they proceeded to a large upper chamber, where a new- 
made fire was crackling and various servants flying about, 
putting finishing touches to the arrangements. 

AV'hen all was done, and the servants departed, the young 
man deliberately locked the door, and putting the key in 
his pocket, faced about, and folding his arms on his bosom, 
looked Mr. AATlson full in the face. 

George said Mr. AYilson. 


120 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


Yes, George,” said the young man. 

I couldn^t have thought it ! ” 

I am pretty well disguised, I fancy,” said the young 
man, with a smile. A little walnut bark has made my 
yellow skin a genteel brown, and IVe dyed my hair blacli ; 
«o you see I don^t answer to the advertisement at all.” 

0 George ! but this is a dangerous game you are play- 
ing. I could not have advised you to it.” 

1 can do it on my own responsibility,” said George, 
with the same proud smile. 

We remark, en passant, that George was, by his father^s 
side, of white descent. His mother was one of those un- 
fortunates of her race, marked out by personal beauty to 
be the slave of the passions of her possessor, and the mother 
of children who may never know a father. From one of 
the proudest families in Kentucky he had inherited a set 
of fine European features, and a high, indomitable spirit. 
From his mother he had received only a slight mulatto 
tinge, amply compensated by its accompanying rich, dark 
eye. A slight change in the tint of the skin and the color 
of his hair had metamorphosed him into the Spanish-look- 
ing fellow he then appeared ; and as gracefulness of move- 
ment and gentlemanly manners had always been perfectly 
natural to him, he found no difficulty in playing the bold 
part he had adopted — that of a gentleman travelling with 
his domestic. 

Mr. Wilson, a good-natured hut extremely fidgety and 
cautious old gentleman, ambled up and down the room, 
appearing, as John Bunyan hath it, ^^much tumbled up 
and down in his mind,” and divided between his wish to 
help George, and a certain confused notion of maintaining 
law and order ; so, as he shambled about, he delivered 
himself as follows : 

‘^^Well, George, I s^pose youhe running away — leaving 
your lawful master, — George — (I don^t wonder at it) — at 
the same time, Fm sorry, George, — yes, decidedly — I think 
I must say that, George — iFs my duty to tell you so.” 

Why are you sorry, sir ?” said George, calmly. 

Why, to see you, as it were, setting yourself in opposi- 
tion to the laws of your country.” 

Ml) country ! ” said George, with a strong and bitter 
emphasis ; what country have I, but the grave, — and I 
wish to God that I was laid there ! ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


121 


« Why, George, no — no — it won^t do ; this way of talk- 
ing is wicked — unscriptnral. George, youVe got a hard 
master — in fact, he is — well he conducts himself reprehen- 
sibly — I can^t pretend to defend him. But you know how 
the angel commanded Hagar to return to her mistress, and 
submit herself under her hand ; and the apostle sent back 
Onesimus to his master. ” 

Don't quote Bible at me in that way, Mr. Wilson,” 
said George, with a flashing eye, don't ! for my wife is a 
Christian, and I mean to be, if ever I get to where I can ; 
but to quote Bible to a fellow in my circumstances, is 
enough to make him give it up altogether. I appeal to 
God Almighty ; — I'm willing to go with the case to Him, 
and ask Him. if I do wron^ to seek my freedom.'' 

These feelings are quite natural, George,'' said the 
good-natured man, blowing his nose. Yes, they're nat- 
ural, but it is my duty not to encourage 'em in you. Yes, 
my boy, I'm sorry for you, now ; it's a bad case — very bad ; 
but the apostle says ‘ Let every one abide in the condition 
in which he is called.' We must all submit to the indica- 
tions of Providence, George, — don't you see ? '' 

George stood with his head drawn back, his arms folded 
tightly over his broad breast, and a bitter smile curling his 
lips. 

I wonder, Mr. Wilson, if the Indians should come and 
take you a prisoner away from your wife and children, and 
want* to keep you all your life hoeing corn for them, if 
you'd think it your duty to abide in the condition in which 
you were called. I rather think that you'd think the flrst 
stray horse you could find an indication of Providence — 
shouldn't you ? '' 

The little old gentleman stared with both eyes at this 
illustration of the case ; but, though not much of a rea- 
soner, he had the sense in which some logicians on this 
particular subject do not excel, — that of saying nothing, 
where nothing could be said. So, as he stood carefully 
stroking his umbrella, and folding and patting down all 
the creases in it, he proceeded on with his exhortations in 
a general way. 

“ You see, George, you know, now, I always have stood 
your friend ; and whatever I've said, I've said for your 
good. Now, here, it seems to me, you're running an aw- 
ful risk. You can't hope to carry it out. If you're taken. 


122 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


it will be worse with you than ever ; they^ll only abuse you, 
and half kill you, and sell you down river 

Mr. Wilson, I know all this,^"* said George. ‘‘1 do run 
a risk, but — he threw open his overcoat, and showed two 
pistols and a bowie-knife. There ! he said, I'm ready 
for ^em ! Down south I never will go. No ! if it comes 
to that, I can earn myself at least six feet of free soil, — 
the first and last I shall ever own in Kentucky ! 

Why, George, this state of mind is awful ; it’s getting 
really desperate, George. Fm concerned. Going to break 
the laws of your country ! ” 

My country again ! Mr. Wilson, you have a country ; 
but what country have I, or any one like me, born of slave 
mothers ? What laws are there for us ? We don’t make 
them, — we don’t consent to them, — we have nothing to do 
with them ; all they do for us is to crush us, and keep us 
down. Haven’t I heard your Fourth-of-July speeches ? 
Don’t you tell us all, once a year, that governments derive 
their just power from the consent of the governed ? Can’t 
a fellow thmhy that hears such things ? Can’t he put this 
and that together, and see what it comes to ? ” 

Mr. Wilson’s mind was one of those that may not un- 
aptly be represented by a bale of cotton, — downy, soft, be- 
nevolently fuzzy and confused. He really pitied George 
with all his heart, and had a sort of dim and cloudy per- 
ception of the style of feeling that agitated him ; but he 
deemed it his duty to go on talking good to him with in- 
finite pertinacity. 

George, this is bad. I must tell you, you know, as a 
friend, you’d better not be meddling with such notions ; 
they are bad, George, very bad, for boys in your condition, 
— very and Mr. Wilson sat down to a table, and began 
nervously chewing the handle of his umbrella. 

See here, now, Mr. Wilson,” said George, coming up 
and sitting himself determinately down in front of him ; 
^Hook at me, now. Don’t I sit before you, every way, 
just as much a man as you are ? Look at my face, — look 
at my hands, — look at my body,” and the young man drew 
himself up proudly ; why am Inot^ man, as much as any- 
body ? Well, Mr. Wilson, hear what I can tell you. I 
had a father — one of your Kentucky gentlemen — who didn’t 
think enough of me to keep me from being sold with his 
dogs and horses, to satisfy the estate, when he died. I 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


123 


saw my mother put up at sheriff's sale^ with her seven 
children. They were sold before her eyes, one by one, all 
to different masters ; and I was the youngest. She came 
and kneeled down before old MasT, and begged him to buy 
her with me, that she might have at least one child with 
her ; and he kicked her away with his heavy boot. I saw 
him do it ; and the last that I heard was her moans and 
screams, when I was tied to his horse's neck, to be carried 
off to his place." 

Well, then ?" 

My master traded with one of the men, and bought 
my oldest sister. She was a pious, good girl, — a member 
of the Baptist church, — and as handsome as my poor 
mother had been. She was well brought up, and had good 
manners. At first, I was glad she was bought, for I had 
one friend near me. I was soon sorry for it. Sir, I have 
stood at the door and heard her whipped, when it seemed 
as if every blow cut into my naked heart, and I couldn't 
do anything to help her ; and she was whipped, sir, for 
wanting to live a decent Christian life, such as your laws 
give no slave girl a right to live ; and at last I saw her 
chained with a trader's gang, to he sent to market in 
Orleans, — sent there for nothing else but that, — and that's 
the last I know of her. Well, I grew up, — long years and 
years, — no father, no mother, no sister, not a living soul 
that cared for me more than a dog ; nothing hut whipping, 
scolding, starving. Why, sir, I've been so hungry that I 
have been glad to take the bones they threw to their dogs ; 
and yet, when I was a little fellow, and laid awake whole 
nights and cried, it wasn't the hunger, it wasn't the whip- 
ping, I cried for. No, sir; it was for my mother and my 
sisters . — It was because I hadn't a friend to love me on 
earth. I never knew what peace or comfort was. I never 
had a kind word spoken to me till I came to work in your 
factory. Mr. Wilson, you treated me well ; you encour- 
aged me to do well, and to learn to read and write, and to 
try to make something of myself ; and God knows how grate- 
ful I am for it. Then, sir, I found my wife ; you've seen 
her, — you know how beautiful she is. When I found she 
loved me, when I married her, I scarcely could believe I 
was alive, I was so happy ; and, sir, she is as good as she 
is beautiful. But now what ? Why, now comes my 
master, takes me right away from my work, and my friends. 


124 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


and all I like, and grinds me down into tlie very dirt I 
And why ? Because, he says, I forgot who I was ; he says, 
to teach me that I am only a nigger ! After all, and last 
of all, he comes between me and my wife, and says I shall 
give her up, and live with another woman. And all this 
your laws give him power to do, in spite of God or man. 
Mr. Wilson, look at it ! There isnT one of all these things, 
that have broken the hearts of my mother and my sister, 
and my wife and myself, but your laws allow, and give 
every man power to do, in Kentucky, and none can say to 
him, nay ! Do you call these the laws of my country ? 
Sir, I havenT any country, any more than I have any 
father. But I’m going to have one. I don’t want any- 
thing of your country, except to be let alone, — to go peace- 
ably out of it ; and when I get to Canada, where the laws 
will own me and protect me, that shall be my country, and 
its laws I will obey. But if any man tries to stop me, let 
him take care, for I am desperate. I’ll fight for my liberty 
to the last breath I breathe. You say your fathers did it ; 
if it was right for them, it is right for me ! ” 

This speech, delivered partly while sitting at the table, 
and partly walking up and down the room, — delivered with 
tears, and hashing eyes, and despairing gestures, — was al- 
together too much for the good-natured old body to whom 
it was addressed, who had pulled out a great yellow silk 
pocket-handkerchief, and was mopping up his face with 
great energy. 

Blast ’em all ! ” he suddenly broke out. Haven’t I 
always said so — the infernal old cusses ! I hope I an’i 
swearing, now. Well ! go ahead, George, go ahead ; but 
be careful, my boy ; don’t shoot anybody, George, unless 
— well — ^you’d letter not shoot, I reckon ; at least, I 
wouldn’t hit anybody, you know. Where is your wife, 
George ? ” he added, as he nervously rose, and began 
walking the room. 

Gone, sir, gone, with her child in her arms, the Lord 
only knows where, — gone after the north star ; and when 
we ever meet, or whether we meet at all in this world, no 
creature can tell.” 

Is it possible ! astonishing ! from such a kind family ? ” 
“'Kind families get in debt, and the laws of our country 
allow them to sell the child out of its mother’s bosom to 
pay its master’s debts,” said George, bitterly. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


Well, well,^^ said the honest old man, fumbling in his 
pocket. s^pose, perhaps, I an^t following my judg- 
ment, — hang it, I won’t follow my judgment ! he added, 
suddenly; ‘^so here, George,^^ and, taking out a roll of 
bills from his pocket-book, he oifered them to George. 

^^No, my kind, good sir!^^ said George. YouVe 
done a great deal for me, and this might get you into 
trouble. I have money enough, I hope, to take me as far 
as I need it.” 

No, but you must, George. Money is a great help 
everywhere ; — can^t have too much, if you get it honestly. 
Take it, — do take it, now, — do, my boy ! ” 

On condition, sir, that I may repay it at some future 
time, I will,” said George, taking up the money. 

And now, George, how long are you going to travel in 
this way ? — not long or far, I hope. It^s well carried 
on, but too bold. And this black fellow, — who is he ? ” 

A true fellow, who went to Canada more than a yeai 
ago. He heard, after he got there, that his master was so 
angry at him for going off that he had whipped his poor 
old mother ; and he has come all the way back to comfort 
her, and get a chance to get her away.” 

Has he got her ? ” 

Not yet ; he has been hanging about the place, and 
found no chance yet. Meanwhile, be is going with me as 
far as Ohio, to put me among friends that helped him, and 
then he will come back after her.” 

Dangerous, very dangerous ! ” said the old man. 

George drew himself up, and smiled disdainfully. 

The old gentleman eyed him from head to foot, with a 
sort of innocent wonder. 

George, something has brought you out wonderfully. 
You hold up your head, and speak and move like another 
man,” said Mr. Wilson. 

Because Fm a freeman ! ” said George, proudly. 

Yes, sir ; IVe said MasT for the last time to any man. 
Fm free ! ” 

Take care ! You are not sure, — you may be taken.” 

All men are free and equal in the grave, if it comes tc 
that, Mr. Wilson,” said George. 

Fm perfectly dumfoundered with your boldness ! ” 
said Mr. Wilson, — ^^to come right here to the nearest 
tavern I ” 


126 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


Mr. Wilson, it is so bold, and this tavern is so near, 
that they will never think of it ; they will look for me on 
ahead, and you yourself wouldn^’t know me. Jimp’s master 
don^’t live in this county ; he isn^t known in these parts. 
Besides, he is given up ; nobody is looking after him, and 
nobody will take me up from the advertisement, I think. 

But the mark in your hand 

George drew off his glove, and showed a newly-healed 
scar in his hand. 

That is a parting proof of Mr. Harris^ regard, he 
said, scornfully. “ A fortnight ago, he took it into his 
head to give it to me, because he said he believed I should 
try to get away one of these days. Looks interesting, 
doesnT it ? he said, drawing his glove on again. 

I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of 
it, — your condition and your risks ! ” said Mr. Wilson. 

Mine has run cold a good many years, Mr. Wilson ; at 
present, it^s about up to the boiling point, said George. 

Well, my good sir,” continued George, after a few 
moments^ silence, I saw you knew me ; I thought Fd 
just have this talk with you, lest your surprised looks 
should bring me out. I leave early to-morrow morning, 
before daylight ; by to-morrow night I hope to sleep safe 
in Ohio. I shall travel by daylight, stop at the best hotels, 
go to the dinner-tables with the lords of the land. So, 
good-bye, sir ; if you hear that I^m taken, you may know 
that I^m dead ! ” 

George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with 
the air of a prince. The friendly little old man shook it 
heartily, and after a little shower of caution, he took his 
umbrella, and fumbled his way out of the room. 

George stood thoughtfully looking at the door, as the 
old man closed it. A thought seemed to flash across his 
mind. He hastily stepped to it, and opening it, said, 

Mr. Wilson, one word more.” 

The old gentleman entered again, and George, as be- 
fore, locked the door, and then stood for a few moments 
looking on the floor, irresolutely. At last, raising his 
head with a sudden effort — 

^^Mr. Wilson, you have shown yourself a Christian in 
your treatment of me, — I want to ask one last deed of 
Christian kindness of you.” 

Well, George ?” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


127 


Well, sir, — what you said was true. I am running a 
dreadful risk. There isnT, on earth, a living soul to care 
if I die,"*^ he added, drawing his breath hard, and speak- 
ing with a great effort,—'"! shall be kicked out and 
buried like a dog, and nobody'll think of it a day after, 
— 07ily my poor wife ! Poor soul ! she'll mourn and grieve ; 
and if you'd only contrive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little 
pin to her. She gave it to me for a Christmas present, 
poor child ! Give it to her, and tell her I loved her to the 
last. Will you ? Will you ?" he added, earnestly. 

"Yes, certainly — poor fellow ! " said the old gentleman, 
taking the pin, with watery eyes, and a melancholy quiver 
in his voice. 

" Tell her one thing," said George, " it's my last wish, 
if she ca7i get to Canada, to go there. No matter how 
kind her mistress is, — no matter how much she loves her 
home ; beg her not to go hack, — for slavery always ends in 
misery. Tell her to bring up our boy a free man, and then he 
won't suffer as I have. Tell her this, Mr. Wilson, will you ? " 

"Yes, George, I'll tell her ; but I trust you won't die ; 
take heart, — you're a brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, 
George. I wish in my heart you were safe through, 
though, — that's what I do." 

" Is there a God to trust in ? " said George, in such a 
tone of bitter despair as arrested the old gentleman's words. 
" 0, I've seen things all my life that have made me feel 
that there can't be a God. You Christians don't know 
hoAV these things look to us. There's a God for you, but 
is there any for us ? " 

" 0, now, don't, — don't, my boy ! " said the old man, 
almost sobbing as he spoke ; " don't feel so ! There is — 
there is ; clouds and darkness are around about him, but 
righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his 
throne. There's a God, George, — believe it ; trust in him, 
and I'm sure he'll help you. Everything will be set right, 
— if not in this life, in another." 

The real piety and benevolence of the simple old man 
invested him with a temporary dignity and authority, as 
he spoke. George stopped his distracted walk up and 
down the room, stood thoughtfully a moment, and then 
said, quietly, 

" Thank you for saying that, my good friend ; I'll thinJt 
of that.” 


128 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


CHAPTER XII. 

SELECT Il^CIDENT OF LAWFUL TRADE. 

“ In Ramah there was a voice heard, — weeping, and lamenta- 
tion, and great mourning ; Rachel weeping for her children, and 
would not be comforted.” 

Mr. Haley and Tom jogged onward in their wagon, 
each, for a time, absorbed in his own reflections. Now, 
the reflections of two men sitting side by side are a curious 
thing, — seated on the same seat, having the same eyes, 
ears, hands, and organs of all sorts, and having pass before 
their eyes the same objects, — it is wonderful what a variety 
we shall find in these same reflections ! 

As, for example, Mr. Haley : he thought first of Tomb’s 
length, and breadth, and height, and what he would sell 
for, if he was kept fat and in good case till he got him 
into market. He thought of how he should make out his 
gang ; he thought of the respective market value of certain 
supposititious men and women and children who were to 
compose it, and other kindred topics of the business ; then 
he thought of himself, and how humane he was, that 
whereas other men chained their niggers hand and foot 
both, he only put fetters on the feet, and left Tom the 
use of his hands, as long as he behaved well ; and he 
sighed to think how ungrateful human nature was, so 
that there was even room to doubt whether Tom appre- 
ciated his mercies. He had been taken in so by “^nig- 
gers whom he had favored : but still he was astonished 
to consider how good-natured he yet remained ! 

As to Tom, he was thinking over some words of an 
unfashionable old book, which kept running through his 
head, again and again, as follows : We have here no 
continuing city, but we seek one to come ; wherefore God 
himself is not ashamed to be called our God ; for he hath 
prepared for us a city.^^ These words of an ancient 
volume, got up principally by ignorant and unlearned 
men,^^ have, through all time, kept up, somehow, a strange 
sort of power over the minds of poor, simple fellows, like 
Tom. They stir up the soul from its depths, and rouse. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 129 

as with trumpet call, courage, energy, and enthusiasm, 
where before was only the blackness of despair. 

Mr. Haley pulled out of his pocket sundry newspapers, 
and began looking over their advertisements, with absorbed 
interest. He was not a remarkably fluent reader, and was 
in the habit of reading in a sort of recitative, half-aloud, 
by way of calling in his ears to verify the deductions of his 
eyes. In this tone he slowly recited the following para- 
^aph: 

“ Executor’s Sale. — Negroes ! — Agreeably for order of court 
will be sold, on Tuesday, February 20, before the Court-house 
door, in the town of Washington, Kentucky, the following ne- 
groes : Hagar,aged60 ; John, aged 30 ; Ben, aged 21 ; Saul, aged 
25 ; Albert, aged 14. Sold for the benefit of the creditors and 
heirs of the estate of Jesse Blutchford, Esq. 

“ Samuel Morris, 

“ Thomas Flint, 
Executors.'’^ 

This yer I must look at,^^ said he to Tom, for want 
of somebody else to talk to. 

^^Ye see, I^’m going to get up a prime gang to take 
down with ye, Tom ; itfll make it sociable and pleasant 
like, — good company will, ye know. We must drive right 
to Washington first and foremost, and then Ifil clap you 
into Jail, while I does the business.^'’ 

Tom received this agreeable intelligence quite meekly ; 
simply wondering, in his own heart, how many of these 
doomed men had wives and children, and whether they 
would feel as he did about leaving them. It is to be con- 
fessed, too, that the naive, off-hand information that he 
was to be thrown into Jail by no means produced an agree- 
able impression on a poor fellow who had always prided 
himself on a strictly honest and upright course of life. 
Yes, Tom, we must confess it, was rather proud of his 
honesty, poor fellow, — not having very much else to be 
proud of ; — if he had belonged to some of the higher walks 
of society, he, perhaps, would never have been reduced to 
such straits. However, the day wore on, and the evening 
saw Haley and Tom comfortably accommodated in Wash- 
ington, — the one in a tavern, and the other in a Jail. 

About eleven oYlock the next day, a mixed throng was 
gathered around the court-house steps, — smoking, chewing, 
spitting, swearing, and conversing, according to their re- 
9 


130 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


spective tastes and turns, — waiting for the auction to com- 
mence. The men and women to be sold sat in a group 
apart, talking in a low tone to each other. The woman 
who had been advertised by the name of Hagar was a reg- 
ular African in feature and figure. She might have been 
sixty, but was older than that by hard work and disease, 
was partially blind, and somewhat crippled with rheuma- 
tism. By her side stood her only remaining son, Albert, 
a bright-looking little fellow of fourteen years. The hoy 
was the only survivor of a large family, who had been 
successively sold away from her to a southern market. 
The mother held on to him with both her shaking hands, 
and eyed with intense trepidation every one who walked up 
to examine him. 

DonT be feared. Aunt Hagar, said the oldest of the 
men, I spoke to MasT Thomas Tout it, and he thought 
he might manage to sell you in a lot both together. 

Dey neednT call me worn out yet,^^ said she, lifting 
her shaking hands. I can cook yet, and scrub, and scour, 
— I^m wuth a-buying, if I do come cneap ; — tell em dat ar, 
— ^you tell em,^^ she added, earnestly. 

Haley here forced his way into the group, walked up to 
the old man, pulled his mouth open and looked in, felt 
of his teeth, made him stand and straighten himself, bend 
his back, and perform various evolutions to show his 
muscles ; and then passed on to the next, and put him 
through the same trial. Walking up last to the boy, he 
felt of his arms, straightened his hands, and looked at his 
fingers, and made him jump, to show his agility. 

He anT gwine to be sold widout me ! ” said the old 
woman, with passionate eagerness ; ‘^Mie and I goes in a 
lot together ; Fs rail strong yet, MasT, and can do heaps o^ 
work, — heaps on it, MasT.^^ 

On plantation ? said Haley, with a contemptuous 
glance. Likely story and, as if satisfied with his 
examination, he walked out and looked, and stood with his 
hands in his pocket, his cigar in his mouth, and his hat 
cocked on one side, ready for action. 

What think of Tm said a man who had been follow- 
ing Haley^s examination, as if to make up his own mind 
from it. 

Wal,^^ said Haley, spitting, shall put in, I think, 
for the youngerly ones and the boy." 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


131 


They want to sell the boy and the old woman together/^ 
said the man. 

Find it a tight pull ; — why, she^s an old rack o^ hones, 
- — not worth her salt.^^ 

You wouldnd, then said the man. 

Anybody^’d be a fool ^t would. Shea’s half blind, crooked 
with rheumatis, and foolish to boot."’"’ 

Some buys up these yer old critturs, and ses there^’s 
a sight more wear in Ym than a hody^’d think, said the 
man, reflectively. 

No go, T all,” said Haley ; wouldnT take her for a 
present, — fact, — Fve seeriy now.” 

‘^‘^Wal, ^tis kinder pity, now, not to buy her with her 
son — her heart seems so sot on him, — s’pose they fling her 
in cheap.” 

Them thaFs got money to spend that ar way, iFs all 
well enough. I shall bid off on that ar boy for a planta- 
tion-hand ; — wouldnT be bothered with her, no way, — not 
if they^d give her to me,” said Haley. 

Shedl take on despT,” said the man. 

Natdly, she will,” said the trader, coolly. 

The Conversation was here interrupted by a busy hum 
in the audience ; and the auctioneer, a short, bustling, 
important fellow, elbowed his way into the crowd. The 
old woman drew in her breath, and caught instinctively at 
her son. 

Keep close to yer mammy, Albert, — close, — deyfll put 
us up togedder,” she said. 

0 mammy, I^m feard they won’t,” said the hoy. 

Dey must, child ; I can’t live, no ways, if they don’t,” 
said the old creature, vehemently. 

The stentorian tones of the auctioneer, calling out to 
clear the way, now announced that the sale was about to 
commence. A place was cleared, and the bidding began. 
The different men on the list were soon knocked off at 
prices which showed a pretty brisk demand in the market ; 
two of them fell to Haley. 

Come, now, young ’un,” said the auctioneer, giving the 
hoy a touch with his hammer, be up and show your 
springs, now.” 

Put us two up togedder, togedder, — do please, Mas’r,” 
said the old woman, holding fast to her boy. 

^^Be off,” said the man, gruffly, pushing her hands 


132 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


away; ^^you come last. Now^, darkey, spring;^ and, 
with the word, he pushed the boy toward the block, while 
a deep, heavy groan rose behind him. The boy paused, 
and looked back ; but there was no time to stay, and, dash- 
ing the tears from his large, bright eyes, he was up in a 
moment. 

His fine figure, alert limbs, and bright face, raised an in- 
stant competition, and half a dozen bids simultaneously 
met the ear of the auctioneer. Anxious, half -frightened, 
he looked from side to side, as he heard the clatter of con- 
tending bids, — now here, now there, — till the hammer fell. 
Haley had got him. He was pushed from the block toward 
his new master, but stopped one moment, and looked back, 
when his poor old mother, trembling in every limb, held 
out her shaking hands toward him. 

Buy me too, MasT, for de dear Lord^s sake ! — buy me, 
— I shall die if you donT ! 

Youfil die if I do, that's the kink of it," said Haley, 

no ! " And he turned on his heel. 

The bidding for the poor old creature was summary. 
The man who had addressed Haley, and who seemed not 
destitute of compassion, bought her for a trifie, and the 
spectators began to disperse. 

The poor victims of the sale, who had been brought up 
in one place together for years, gathered round the despair- 
ing old mother, whose agony was pitiful to see. 

Couldn't dey leave me one ? Mas'r allers said I should 
have one, — he did," she repeated over and over, in heart- 
broken tones. 

Trust in the Lord, Aunt Hagar," said the oldest of 
the men, sorrowfully. 

^^What good will it do ?" said she, sobbing passionately. 

Mother, mother, — don't ! don't ! " said the boy. They 

say you's got a good master." 

I don't care, — I don't care. 0 Albert ! oh, my boy ! 
you's my last baby. Lord, how ken I ? " 

Come, take her off, can't some of ye ? " said Haley, 
dryly ; don't do no good for her to go on that ar way." 

The old men of the company, partly by persuasion and 
partly by force, loosed the poor creature's last despairing 
hold, and, as they led her off to her new master's wagon, 
strove to comfort her. 

Now ! " said Haley, pushing his three purchases tO' 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


133 


gether, and producing a bundle of handcuffs, which he 
proceeded to put on their wrists ; and fastening each hand- 
cuff to a long chain, he drove them before him to the jail. 

A few days saw Haley, with his possessions, safely de- 
posited on one of the Ohio boats. It was the commence- 
ment of his gang, to be augmented, as the boat moved on, 
by various other merchandise of the same kind, which he, 
or his agent, had stored for him in various points along 
shore. 

The La Belle Eiviere, as brave and beautiful a boat as 
ever walked the waters of her namesake river, was floating 
gayly down the stream, under a brilliant sky, the stripes 
and stars of free America waving and fluttering overhead ; 
the guards crowded with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen 
walking and enjoying the delightful day. All was full of 
life, buoyant and rejoicing ; — all but Haley^s gang, who 
were stored, with other freight, on the lower deck, and 
who, somehow, did not seem to appreciate their various 
privileges, as they sat in a knot, talking to each other in 
low tones. 

Boys,"’"’ said Haley, coming up briskly, I hope you 
keep up good heart, and are cheerful. Now, no sulks, ye 
see ; keep stiff upper lips, hoys ; do well by me, and Ifll do 
well by you.^'’ 

The boys addressed responded the invariable ^^Yes, 
Mas’r,'^ for ages the watchword of poor Africa ; but it^s to 
be owned they did not look particularly cheerful ; they had 
their various little prejudices in favor of wives, mothers, 
sisters, and children, seen for the last time, — and though 
^^they that wasted them required of them mirth, it was 
not instantly forthcoming. 

INe got a wife,'’^ spoke out the article enumerated as 

John, aged thirty, and he laid his chained hand on 
Tom^s knee, — and she donT know a word about this, 
poor girl ! ” 

Where does she live ? said Tom. 

In a tavern a piece down here,” said John ; ^^I wish, 
now, I could see her once more in this world,” he added. 

Poor John ! It was rather natural ; and the tears that 
fell, as he spoke, came as naturally as if he had been a 
white man. Tom drew a long breath from a sore heart, 
and tried, in his poor way, to comfort him. 

And overhead, in the cabin, sat fathers and mothers. 


134 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


hust^Tids aud wives ; and merry, dancing children moved 
round among them, like so many little butterflies, and 
everything was going on quite easy and comfortable. 

0 mamma, said a boy, who had just come up from 
below, there’s a negro trader on board, and he’s brought 
four or flve slaves down there.” 

‘^Poor creatures ! ” said the mother, in a tone between 
grief and indignation. 

What’s that ? ” said another lady. 

Some poor slaves below,” said the mother. 

And they’ve got chains on,” said the boy. 

What a shame to our country that such sights are to 
be seen ! ” said another lady. 

0, there’s a great deal to be said on both sides of the 
subject,” said a genteel woman, who sat at her stateroom 
door sewing, while her little girl and boy were playing 
round her. I’ve been south, and I must say I think the 
negroes are better off than they would be to be free.” 

In some respects, some of them are well off, I grant,” 
said the lady to whose remark she had answered. The 
most dreadful part of slavery, to my mind, is its outrages on 
the feelings and affections, — the separating of families, for 
example.” 

^^That is a bad thing, certainly,” said the other lady, 
holding up a baby’s dress she had just completed, and 
looking intently on its trimmings ; but then, I fancy, it 
don’t occur often.” 

^‘0, it does,” said the flrst lady, eagerly ; I’ve lived 
many years in Kentucky and Virginia both, and I’ve seen 
enough to make any one’s heart sick. Suppose, ma’am, 
your two children, there, should be taken from you and 
sold ? ” 

We can’t reason from our feelings to those of this class 
of persons,” said the other lady, sorting out some worsteds 
on her lap. 

Indeed, ma’am, you can know nothing of them, if you 
say so,” answered the flrst lady, warmly. I was born 
and brought up among them. I know they do feel, just as 
keenly, — even more so, perhaps, — as we do.” 

The lady said Indeed ! ” yawned, and looked out the 
cabin window, and finally repeated, for a finale, the remark 
with which she had begun, — After all, I think they are 
better off than they would be to be free.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


136 


It^s undoubtedly the intention of Providence that the 
African race should be servants, — kept in a low condition,^^ 
said a grave-looking gentleman in black, a clergyman, 
seated by the cabin door. ^ Cursed be Canaan ; a servant 
. of servants shall he be,^ the scripture says."’^ 

I say, stranger, is that ar what that text means ?" said 
a tall man, standing by. 

Undoubtedly. It pleased Providence, for some inscru- 
table reason, to doom the race to bondage, ages ago ; and 
we must not set up our opinion against that."’"’ 

^^Well, then, wee’ll all go ahead and buy up niggers, 
said the man, ^^if thaPsthe way of Providence, — won^t we. 
Squire ? ” said he, turning to Haley, who had been stand- 
ing, with his hands in his pockets, by the stove, and in- 
tently listening to the conversation. 

Yes,^'’ continued the tall man, we must all be resigned 
to the decrees of Providence. Niggers must be sold, and 
trucked round, and kept under ; iPs what they^’s made for. 
^Pears like this yer view^s quite refreshing, an^t it, stran- 
ger ? said he to Haley. 

I never thought on ^t,^^ said Haley. I couldn^t have 
said as much, myself ; I haVt no laming. I took up the 
trade just to make a living ; if ^t an^’t right, I calculated 
to '’pent on’t in time, ye know.^^ 

And now you’ll save yerself the trouble, won’t ye ? ” 
said the tall man. See what ’tis, now, to know scripture. 
If ye’d only studied yer Bible, like this yer good man, ye 
might have know’d it before, and saved ye a heap o’ trou- 
ble. Ye could jist have said, ^Cussed be’ — what’s his 
name? — ^and ’twould all have come right.’” And the 
stranger, who was no other than the honest drover whom 
we introduced to our readers in the Kentucky tavern, sat 
down, and began smoking, with a curious smile on his long, 
dry face. 

A tall, slender young man, with a face expressive of 
great feeling and intelligence, here broke in, and re- 
peated the words, ‘ All things whatsoever ye would that 
men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.’ I 
suppose,” he added, that is scripture, as much as ^ Cursed 
be Canaan.’” 

^^Wal, it seems quite as plain a text, stranger,” said 
John the drover, to poor fellows like us, now ; ” and 
John smoked on like a volcano. 


136 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


The young man paused, looked as if he was going to sa^ 
more, when suddenly the boat stopped, and the company 
made the usual steamboat rush, to see where they were 
landing. 

Both them ar chaps parsons ? ” said John to one of the 
men, as they were going out. 

The man nodded. 

As the boat stopped, a black woman came running wildly 
up the plank, darted into the crowd, flew up to where the 
slave gang sat, and threw her arms round that unfortu- 
nate piece of merchandise before enumerated — ‘‘John, 
aged thirty,” and with sobs and tears bemoaned him as her 
husband. 

But what needs tell the story, told too oft, — every day 
told, — of heart-strings rent and broken, — the weak broken 
and torn for the profit and convenience of the strong ! It 
needs not to be told ; — every day is telling it, — telling it, 
too, in the ear of One who is not deaf, though he be long 
silent. 

The young man who had spoken for the cause of human- 
ity and God before, stood with folded arms, looking on this 
scene. He turned, and Haley was standing at his side. 
“ My friend,” he said, speaking with thick utterance, 
“ how can you, how dare you, carry on a trade like this ? 
Look at those poor creatures ! . Here I am, rejoicing in my 
heart that I am going home to my wife and child ; and the 
same bell which is a signal to carry me onward towards 
them will part this poor man and his wife forever. Depend 
upon it, God will bring you into judgment for this.” 

The trader turned away in silence. 

“I say, now,” said the drover, touching his elbow, 

there^s differences in parsons, anT there ? ‘ Cussed be 

Canaan * donT seem to go down with this ^un, does it ? ” 

Haley gave an uneasy growl. 

“And that ar anT the worst on%” said John ; “mabbe 
it wonT go down with the Lord, neither, when ye come to 
settle with him, one o' these days, as all on us must, I 
reckon.” 

Haley walked reflectively to the other end of the boat. 

“ If I make pretty handsomely on one or two next 
gangs,” he thought, “ I reckon I’ll stop off this yer ; it’s 
really getting dangerous.” And he took out his pocket- 
book, and began adding over his accounts, — a process 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 13 ? 

which many gentlemen besides Mr. Haley have found a 
specific for an uneasy conscience. 

The boat swept proudly away from the shore, and all 
went on merrily, as before. Men talked, and loafed, and 
read, and smoked. Women sewed, and children played, 
and the boat passed on her way. 

One day, when she lay to for a while at a small town in 
Kentucky, Haley went up into the place on a little matter 
of business. 

Tom, whose fetters did not prevent his taking a moder- 
ate circuit, had drawn near the side of the boat, and stood 
listlessly gazing over the railings. After a time, he saw 
the trader returning, with an alert step, in company with 
a colored woman, bearing in her arms a young child. She 
was dressed quite respectably, and a colored man followed 
her, bringing along a small trunk. The woman came 
cheerfully onward, talking, as she came, with the man 
who bore her trunk, and so passed up the plank into the 
boat. The bell rung, the steamer whizzed, the engine 
groaned and coughed, and away swept the boat down the 
river. 

The woman walked forward among the boxes and hales 
of the lower deck, and, sitting down, busied herself with 
chirruping to her baby. 

Haley made a turn or two about the boat, and then, 
coming up, seated himself near her, and began saying 
something to her in an indifferent undertone. 

Tom soon noticed a heavy cloud passing over the 
woman^s brow ; and that she answered rapidly, and with 
great vehemence. 

I donT believe it, — I wonT believe it ! he heard her 
say. “ YouTe jist a-foolin'’ with me.^^ 

If you won't believe it, look here!^^ said the man, 
drawing out a paper : this yer^’s the bill of sale, and 
there^’s your mastery’s name to it ; and I paid down good 
solid cash for it, too, I can tell you, — so, now ! 

I donT believe MasT would cheat me so ; it canT be 
true ! said the woman, with increasing agitation. 

You can ask any of these men here, that can read 
writing. Here ! he said, to a man that was passing by, 

jist read this yer, wonT you ! This yer gal wonT believe 
me, when I tell her what Tis.” 

Why, iffs a bill of sale, signed by John Fosdick,^^ said 


138 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


the man, “ making over to yon the girl Lucy and her childc 
It^s all straight enough, for aught I see/'’ 

The woman^s passionate exclamations collected a crowd 
around her, and the trader briefly explained to them the 
cause of the agitation. 

He told me that I was going down to Louisville, to hire 
out as cook to the same tavern where my husband works, 
— tha/s what MasT told me, his own self ; and I cai/t be- 
lieve he^d lie to me,^^ said the woman. 

But he has sold you, my poor woman, there’s no doubt 
about it,” said a good-natured looking man, who had been 
examining the papers ; he has done it, and no mis- 
take.” 

Then it’s no account talking,” said the woman, sud- 
denly growing quite calm ; and, clasping her child tighter 
in her arms, she sat down on her box, turned her back 
round, and gazed listlessly into the river. 

Going to take it easy, after all ! ” said the trader. 

Gal’s gob grit, I see.” 

The woman looked calm, as the boat went on ; and a 
beautiful soft summer breeze passed like a compassionate 
spirit over her head, — the gentle breeze, that never in- 
quires whether the brow is dusky or fair that it fans. And 
she saw sunshine sparkling on the water, in golden ripples, 
and heard gay voices, full of ease and pleasure, talking 
around her everywhere ; but her heart lay as if a great stone 
had fallen on it. Her baby raised himself up against her, 
and stroked her cheeks with his little hands ; and, spring- 
ing up and down, crowing and chatting, seemed determined 
to arouse her. She strained him suddenly and tightly in 
her arms, and slowly one tear after another fell on his won- 
dering, unconscious face ; and gradually she seemed, and 
little by little, to grow calmer, and busied herself with 
tending and nursing him. 

The child, a boy of ten months, was uncommonly large 
and strong of his age, and very vigorous in his limbs. 
Never, for a moment still, he kept his mother constantly 
busy in holding him, and guarding his springing activity. 

That’s a fine chap ! ” said a man, suddenly stopping 
opposite to him, with his hands in his pockets. How 
old is he ? ” 

Ten months and a half,” said the mother. 

The man whistled to the boy, and offered him part of a 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


139 


stick of candy, which he eagerly grabbed at, and very soon 
had it in a baby's general depository, to wit, his mouth. 

Rum fellow ! " said the man. Knows what's what ! " 
and he whistled, and walked on. When he had got xo the 
other side of the boat, he came across Haley, who was 
smoking on top of a pile of boxes. 

The stranger produced a match, and lighted a thgar, 
saying, as he did so. 

Decentish kind o' wench you've got round there, 
stranger." 

^^Why, I reckon she is tol'able fair," said Haley, blow- 
ing the smoke out of his mouth. 

Taking her down south ? " said the man. 

Haley nodded, and smoked on. 

Plantation hand ? " said the man. 

Wal," said Haley, I'm fillin' out an order for a plan- 
tation, and I think I shall put her in. They telled me she 
was a good cook ; and they can use her for that, or set her 
at the cotton-picking. She's got the right fingers for 
that ; I looked at 'em. Sell well, either way ; " and Haley 
resumed his cigar. 

They won't want the young 'un on a plantation," said 
the man. 

I shall sell him, first chance I find," said Haley, light- 
ing another cigar. 

S'pose you'd be selling him tol'able cheap," said the 
stranger, mounting the pile of boxes, and sitting down 
comfortably. 

Don't know 'bout that," said Haley ; he's a pretty 
smart young 'un, — straight, fat, strong ; flesh as hard as a 
brick ! " 

Very true, but then there's all the bother and expense 
of raisin'." 

Nonsense ! " said Haley ; they is raised as easy as 
any kind of critters there is going ; they an't a bit more 
trouble than pups. This yer chap will be running all 
round, in a month." 

I’ve got a good place for raisin', and I thought of 
takin' in a little more stock," said the man. Our cook 
lost a young 'un last week, — got drownded in a wash-tub, 
while she was a bangin' out clothes, — and I reckon it would 
be well enough to set her to raisin' this yer." 

Haley and the stranger sm-oked a while in silence, nei- 


140 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


ther seeming willing to broach the test question of the in- 
terview. At last the man resumed : 

You wouldn^t think of wantin^ more than ten dollars 
for that ar chap, seeing you must get him off yer hand, 
anyhow 

Haley shook his head, and spit impressively. 

That wonT do, no ways, he said, and began his smok- 
ing again. 

Well, stranger, what will you take 

Well, now,^^ said Haley, I could raise that ar chap my- 
self, or get him raised ; he^s uncommon likely and healthy, 
and heM fetch a hundred dollars, six months hence ; and 
in a year or two, he^d bring two hundred, if I had him 
in the right spot ; — so I shanT take a cent less nor fifty for 
him now.^^ 

0 stranger ! that^s rediculous, altogether, said the 
man. 

Fact ! said Haley, with a decisive nod of his head. 

ril give thirty for him,'’^ said the stranger, but not 
a cent more.'’^ 

Now, Fll tell ye what I will do,^^ said Haley, spitting 
again, with renewed decision. Fll split the difference, 
and say forty-five ; and that^s the most I will do."’"’ 

^^Well, agreed said the man, after an interval. 

Done ! said Haley. Where do you land 

At Louisville,'’^ said the man. 

Louisville, said Haley. ^^Very fair, we get there 
about dusk. Chap will be asleep, — all fair, — get him off 
quietly, and no screaming, — happens beautiful, — I like to 
do everything quietly, — I hates all kind of agitation and 
fiuster.^^ And so, after a transfer of certain bills had 
passed from the man^s pocket-book to the trader’s he 
resumed his cigar. 

It was a bright, tranquil evening when the boat stopped 
at the wharf at Louisville. The woman had been sitting 
with her baby in her arms, now wrapped in a heavy sleep. 
When she heard the name of the place called out, she 
hastily laid the child down in a little cradle formed by the 
hollow among the boxes, first carefully spreading under it 
her cloak ; and then she sprung to the side of the boat, in 
hopes that, among the various hotel- waiters who thronged 
the wharf, she might see her husband. In this hope, she 
pressed forward to the front rails, and, stretching far over 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


141 


them, strained her eyes intently on the moving heads on 
the shore, and the crowd pressed in between her and the 
child. 

Now^s your time,” said Haley, taking the sleeping child 
lip, and handing him to the stranger. Don^t wake him 
lip, and set him to crying, now ; it would make a devil of 
a fuss with the gal.” The man took the bundle carefully, 
and was soon lost in the crowd that went up the wharf. 

When the boat, creaking, and groaning, and puffing, had 
loosed from the wharf, and was beginning slowly to strain 
herself along, the woman returned to her old seat. The 
trader was sitting there, — the child was gone ! • 

^‘'Why, why, — where?” she began, in bewildered sur- 
prise. 

Lucy,” said the trader, your child^s gone ; you may 
as well know it first as last. You see, I know^d you could 
nT take him down south ; and I got a chance to sell him to 
a first-rate family, thatfil raise him better than you can. ” 
The trader had arrived at that stage of Christian and 
political perfection which has been recommended by some 
preachers and politicians of the north, lately, in which he 
had completely overcome every humane weakness and prej- 
udice. His heart was exactly where yours, sir, and mine 
could be brought, with proper effort and cultivation. The 
wild look of anguish and utter despair that the woman cast 
on him might have disturbed one less practiced ; but he 
was used to it. He had seen that same look hundreds of 
times. You can get used to such things, too, my friend ; 
and it is the great object of recent efforts to make our 
whole northern community used to them, for the glory of 
the Union. So the trader only regarded the mortal an- 
guish which he saw working in those dark features, those 
clenched hands, and suffocating breathings, as necessary 
incidents of the trade, and merely calculated whether she 
was going to scream, and get up a commotion on the boat ; 
for, like other supporters of our peculiar institution, he 
decidedly disliked agitation. 

But the woman did not scream. The shot had passed 
too straight and direct through the heart, for cry or tear. 

Dizzily she sat down. Her slack hands fell lifeless by 
her side. Her eyes looked straight forward, but she saw 
nothing. All the noise and hum of the boat, the groaning 
of the machinery, mingled dreamily to her bewildered ear ; 


142 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


and the poor, dumb-stricken heart had neither cry nor tear 
to show for its utter misery. She was quite calm. 

The trader, who, considering his advantages, was almost 
as humane as some of our politicians, seemed to feel called 
on to administer such consolation as the case admitted of. 

I know this yer comes kinder hard, at first, Lucy," 
said he ; but such a smart, sensible gal as you are, wonT 
give way to it. You see it^s necessary, and can't be 
helped ! " 

0 ! donT, MasT, donT ! " said the woman, with a voice 
like one that is smothering. 

YouTe a smart wench, Lucy," he persisted ; ‘^1 mean 
to do well by ye, and get ye a nice place down river ; and 
you^ll soon get another husband, — such a likely gal as 
you " 

0 ! MasT, if you only wonT talk to me now," said the 
woman, in a voice of such quick and living anguish that 
the trader felt that there was something at present in the 
case beyond his style of operation. He got up, and the 
woman turned away, and buried her head in her cloak. 

The trader walked up and down for a time, and occasion- ’ 
ally stopped and looked at her. 

Takes it hard, rather," he soliloquized, ‘^^hut quiet, 
tho^ ; — let her sweat a while ; she ^11 come right, by and 
by ! ” 

Tom had watched the whole transaction from first to 
last, and had a perfect understanding of its results. To 
him, it looked like something unutterably horrible and cruel, 
because, poor, ignorant black soul ! he had not learned to 
generalize, and to take enlarged views. If he had only been 
instructed by certain ministers of Christianity, he might 
have thought better of it, and seen in it an everyday in° 
cident of a lawful trade ; a trade which is the vital support 
of an institution which an American divine * tells us has 
no evil hut such as are inseparable from any other relations 
in social and domestic life” But Tom, as we see, being a 
poor ignorant fellow, whose reading had been confined en- 
tirely to the New Testament, could not comfort and solace 
himself with views like these. His very soul bled within 
him for what seemed to him the wrongs of the poor suffer- 
ing thing that lay like a crushed reed on the boxes ; the 


Dr. Joel Parker, of Philadelphia. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


143 


feeling, living, bleeding, yet immortal thing, which Ameri- 
can state law coolly classes with the bundles, and bales, and 
boxes, among which she is lying. 

Tom drew near, and tried to say something ; but she only 
groaned. Honestly, and with tears running down his own 
cheeks, he spoke of a heart of love in the skies, of a pitying 
J esus, and an eternal home ; but the ear was deaf with an- 
guish, and the palsied heart could not feel. 

Night came on, — night, calm, unmoved, and glorious, 
shining down with her innumerable and solemn angel eyes, 
twinkling, beautiful, but silent. There was no speech nor 
language, no pitying voice or helping hand, from that dis- 
tant sky. One after another, the voices of business or 
pleasure died away ; all on the boat were sleeping, and the 
ripples at the prow were plainly heard. Tom stretched 
himself out on a box, and there, as he lay, he heard, ever 
and anon, a smothered sob or cry from the prostrate creat- 
ure, — 0 ! what shall I do ? 0 Lord ! 0 good Lord, do 

help me ! and so, ever and anon, until the murmur died 
away in silence. 

At midnight, Tom waked, with a sudden start. Some- 
thing black passed quickly by him to the side of the boat, 
and he heard a splash in the water. No one else saw or 
heard anytuing. He raised his head, — the woman^s place 
was vacant ! He got up, and sought about him in vain. 
The poor bleeding heart was still at last, and the river 
rippled and dimpled just as brightly as if it had not closed 
above it. 

Patience ! patience ! ye whose hearts swell indignant at 
wrongs like these. Not one throb of anguish, not one tear 
of the oppressed, is forgotten by the Man of Sorrows, the 
Lord of (Jlory. In his patient, generous bosom he bears 
the anguish of a world. Bear thou, like him, in patience, 
and labor in love ; for sure as he is God, the year of his 
redeemed shall come.^^ 

The trader waked up bright and early, and came out to 
see to his live stock. It was now his turn to look about in 
perplexity. 

Where alive is that gal he said to Tom. 

Tom, who had learned the wisdom of keeping counsel, 
did not feel called on to state his observations and suspi- 
cions, but said he did not know. 

She surely couldn^t have got off in the night at any of 


144 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


the landings, for I was awake, and on the lookout, when* 
ever the boat stopped. I never trust these yer things tc 
other folks.'’'’ 

This speech was addressed to Tom quite confidentially, 
as if it was something that would be especially interesting 
to him. Tom made no answer. 

The trader searched the boat from stem to stern, among 
boxes, bales and barrels, around the machinery, by the 
chimneys, in vain. 

Now, I say, Tom, be fair about this yer,'’^ he said, 
when, after a fruitless search, he came where Tom was 
standing. You know something about it, now. Don'’t 
tell me, — I know you do. I saw the gal stretched out 
here about ten oYlock, and agfin at twelve, and agfin be- 
tween one and two ; and then at four she was gone, and 
you was a sleeping right there all the time. Now, you 
know something, — you can'’t help it.^^ 

Well, Mas'’r,^Wd Tom, towards morning something 
brushed by me, and I kinder half woke ; and then I hearn 
a great splash, and, then I dare woke up, and the gal was 
gone. That’s all I know on’t.'’^ 

The trader was not shocked nor amazed ; because, as we 
said before, he was used to a great many things that you 
are not used to. Even the awful presence of Ooath struck 
no solemn chill upon him. He had seen Heath many 
times, — met him in the way of trade, and got acquainted 
with him, — and he only thought of him as a hard customer, 
that embarrassed his property operations very unfairly ; 
and so he only swore that the gal was a baggage, and that 
he was devilish unlucky, and that, if things went on in 
this way, he should not make a cent on the trip. In short, 
he seemed to consider himself an ill-used man, decidedly ; 
but there was no help for it, as the woman had escaped 
into a state which never will give up a fugitive, — not even 
at the demand of the whole glorious Union. The trader, 
therefore, sat discontentedly down, with his little account- 
book, and put down the missing body and soul under the 
head of losses ! ” 

‘‘ He^s a shocking creature, isnT he, — this trader ? so 
unfeeling ! It^s dreadful, really ! ” 

0, but nobody thinks anything of these traders ! 
They are universally despised, — never received into any 
decent society/^ 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


145 


Bnt who, sir, makes the trader ? Who is most to blame ? 
The enlightened, cultivated, intelligent man, who supports 
the system of which the trader is the inevitable result, or 
the poor trader himself ? You make the public sentiment 
that calls for his trade, that debauches and depraves him, 
till he feels no shame in it ; and in what are you better 
than he ? 

Are you educated and he ignorant, you high and he low, 
you refined and he coarse, you talented and he simple ? 

In the day of a future Judgment, these very considera- 
tions may make it more tolerable for him than for you. 

In concluding these little incidents of lawful trade, we 
must beg the world not to think that American legisla- 
tors are entirely destitute of humanity, as might, perhaps, 
be unfairly inferred from the great efforts made in our 
national body to protect and perpetuate this species of 
traffic. 

Who does not know how our great men are outdoing 
themselves, in declaiming against the foreign slave-trade. 
There are a perfect host of Clarksons and Wilberforces 
risen up among us on that subject, most edifying to hear 
and behold. Trading negroes from Africa, dear reader, is 
so horrid ! It is not to be thought of ! But trading them 
from Kentucky, — thaffs quite another thing ! 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE QUAKEK SETTLEMENT, 

A QUIET scene now rises before us. A large, roomy 
neatly-painted kitchen, its yellow fioor glossy and smooth, 
and without a particle of dust ; a neat, well-blacked cook- 
ing-stove ; rows of shining tin, suggestive of unmention- 
able good things to the appetite ; glossy green wood chairs, 
old and firm ; a small, fiag-boctomed rocking-chair with a 
patch-work cushion in it, neatly contrived out of small 
pieces of different colored woollen goods, and a larger sized 
one, motherly and old, Avhose wide arms breathed hospi- 
table invitation, seconded by the solicitation of its feather 
cushions, — a real comfortable, persuasive, old chair, and 
worth, in the way of honest, homely enjoyment, a dozen of 
10 


146 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


your plush or brochetelle drawing-room gentry ; and in 
the chair, gently swaying back and forward, her eyes bent 
on some fine sewing, sat our old friend Eliza. Yes, there 
she is, paler and thinner than in her Kentucky home, with 
a world of quiet sorrow lying under the shadow of her 
long eyelashes, and marking the outline of her gentle 
mouth ! It was plain to see how old and firm the girlish 
heart was grown under the discipline of heavy sorrow ; 
and when, anon, her large dark eye was raised to follow 
the gambols of her little Harry, who was sporting, like 
some tropical butterfiy, hither and thither over the 
floor, she showed a depth of firmness and steady resolve 
that was never there in her earlier and happier days. 

By her side sat a woman with a bright tin pan in her 
lap, into which she was carefully sorting some dried 
peaches. She might be fifty-five or sixty ; but hers was 
one of those faces that time seems to touch only to brighten 
and adorn. The snowy lisse crape-cap, made after the 
straight Quaker pattern, — the plain, white muslin handker- 
chief, lying in placid folds across her bosom, — the drab 
shawl and dress, — showed at once the community to which 
she belonged. Her face was round and rosy, with a health- 
ful downy softness, suggestive of a ripe peach. Her hair, 
partially silvered by age, was parted smoothly back from 
a high placid forehead, on which time had written no 
inscription, except peace on earth, good will to men, and 
beneath shone a large pair of clear, honest, loving brown 
eyes ; you only needed to look straight into them, to feel 
that you saw to the bottom of a heart as good and true as 
ever throbbed in woman’s bosom. So much has been said 
and sung of beautiful young girls, why don’t somebody 
wake up to the beauty of old women ? If any want to get 
up an inspiration under this head we refer them to our 
good friend Rachel Halliday, just as she sits there in her 


little rocking-chair. It had 



a turn 


squeaking, — that chair had, — either from having taken 
cold in early life, or from some asthmatic affection, or per- 
haps from nervous derangement ; but, as she gently swung 
backward and forward, the chair kept up a kind of sub- 
dued creechy, crawchy,” that would have been intolera- 
ble in any other chair. But old Simeon Halliday often 
declared it was as good as any music to him, and the chil- 
dren all avowed that they wouldn’t miss of hearing mother’s 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


147 


chair for anything in the world. For why ? for twenty 
years or more, nothing but loving words, and gentle moral- 
ities, and motherly loving-kindness, had come from that 
chair ; — headaches and heartaches innumerable had been 
cured there, — difficulties, spiritual and temporal, solved 
there, — all by one good, loving woman, G-od bless her ! 

And so thee still thinks of going to Canada, Eliza 
she said, as she was quietly looking over her peaches. 

Yes, ma'am,” said Eliza, firmly. I must go onward. 
I dare not stop.” 

“ And what'll thee do, when thee gets there ? Thee 
must think about that, my daughter.” 

My daughter,” came naturally from the lips of Rachel 
Halliday ; for hers was just the face and form that made 

mother ” seem the most natural word in the world. 

Eliza's hands trembled, and some tears fell on her fine 
work ; but she answered, firmly, 

I shall do — anything I can find. I hope I can find 
something.” 

Thee knows thee can stay here, as long as thee pleases,” 
said Rachel. 

0, thank you,” said Eliza, “ but — ” she pointed to 
Harry — I can't sleep nights ; I can't rest. Last night I 
dreamed I saw that man coming into the yard,” she said, 
shuddering. 

Poor child ! ” said Rachel wiping her eyes ; but thee 
mustn't feel so. The Lord hath ordered it so that never 
hath a fugitive been stolen from our village. I trust thine 
will not be the first.” 

The door here opened, and a little short, round, pin- 
cushiony woman stood at the door, with a cheery, bloom- 
ing face, like a ripe apple. She was dressed, like Rachel, 
in sober gray, with the muslin folded neatly across her 
round, plump little chest. 

“ Ruth Stedman,” said Rachel, coming joyfully forward ; 
^^how is thee, Ruth ?” she said, heartily taking both her 
hands. 

Nicely,” said Ruth, taking off her little drab bonnet, 
and dusting it with her handkerchief, displaying, as she 
did so, a round little head, on which the Quaker cap sat 
with a sort of jaunty air, despite all the stroking and pat- 
ting of the small, fat hands, which were busily applied to 
arranging it. Certain stray locks of decidedly curly hair, 


148 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


too, had escaped here and there, and had to be coaxed and 
cajoled into their place again ; and then the newcomer, 
who might have been five-and-twenty, turned from the 
small looking-glass, before which she had been making 
these arrangements, and looked well pleased, — as most 
people who looked at her might have been, — for she was 
decidedly a wholesome, wholehearted, chirruping little 
woman, as ever gladdened man^s heart withal. 

Kuth, this friend is Eliza Harris ; and this is the little 
boy I told thee of.'’’ 

I am glad to see thee, Eliza, — very,^' said Euth, shak- 
ing hands, as if Eliza were an old friend she had long been 
expecting ; ^^and this is thy dear boy, — I brought a cake 
for him,^^ she said, holding out a little heart to the boy, 
who came up, gazing through his curls, and accepted it 
shyly. 

Where’s thy baby, Euth ? ” said Eachel. 

‘‘ 0, he’s coming ; but thy Mary caught him as I came 
in, and ran off with him to the barn, to show him to the 
children.” 

At this moment, the door opened, and Mary, an honest, 
rosy-looking girl, with large, brown eyes, like her mother’s, 
came in with the baby. 

Ah ! ha ! ” said Eachel, coming up, and taking the 
great, white, fat fellow in her arms ; how good he looks, 
and how he does grow ! ” 

To be sure he does,” said little, bustling Euth, as she 
took the child, and began taking off a little blue silk hood, 
and various layers and wrappers of outer garments, and 
having given a twitch here, and a pull there, and variously 
adjusted and arranged him, and kissed him heartily, she 
set him on the floor to collect his thoughts. Baby seemed 
quite used to this mode of proceeding, for he put his thumb 
in his mouth (as if it were quite a thing of course), and 
seemed soon absorbed in his own reflections, while the 
mother seated herself, and taking out a long stocking of 
mixed blue and white yarn, began to knit with briskness. 

Mary, thee’d better fill the kettle, hadn’t thee ?” 
gently suggested the mother. 

Mary took the kettle to the well, and soon reappear- 
ing, placed it over the stove, where it was soon purring and 
steaming, a sort of censer of hospitality and good cheer, 
‘rhe peaches, moreover, in obedience to a few gentle whis- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


149 


pers from Rachel, were soon deposited, by the »ame hand, 
in a stew-pan over the fire. 

Rachel now took down a snowy moulding-board, and, 
tying on an apron, proceeded quietly to making up some 
biscuits, first saying to Mary, — Mary, hadn't thee better 
tell J ohn to get a chicken ready ? " and Mary disappeared 
accordingly. 

And how is Abigail Peters said Rachel, as she went 
on with her biscuits. 

0, she's better," said Ruth ; I was in this morning ; 
made the bed, tidied up the house. Leah Hills went in, 
this afternoon, and baked bread and pies enough to last 
some days ; and I engaged to go hack to get her up, this 
evening." 

I will go in to-morrow, and do any cleaning there may 
be, and look over the mending," said Rachel. 

Ah ! that is well," said Ruth. I've heard," she 
added, that Hannah Stan wood is sick. John was up 
there, last night, — I must go there to-morrow." 

John can come in here to his meals, if thee needs to 
stay all day," suggested Rachel. 

Thank thee, Rachel ; will see, to-morrow ; but here 
comes Simeon." 

Simeon Halliday, a tall, straight, muscular man, in drab 
coat and pantaloons, and broad-brimmed hat, now entered. 

How is thee, Ruth ?" he said, warmly, as he spread 
his broad open hand for her little fat palm ; ‘‘ and how is 
John ? " 

0 ! John is well, and all the rest of our folks," said 
Ruth, cheerily. 

Any news, father ? " said Rachel, as she was putting 
her biscuits into the oven. 

Peter Stebbins told me that they should be along to- 
night, with friends ” said Simeon, significantly, as he was 
washing his hands at a neat sink, in a little hack porch. 

Indeed ! " said Rachel, looking thoughtfully, and glanc- 
ing at Eliza. 

Did thee say thy name was Harris ?" said Simeon to 
Eliza, as he re-entered. 

Rachel glanced quickly at her husband, as Eliza trem- 
ulously answered yes " ; her fears, ever uppermost, sug- 
gesting that possibly there mig'^^t be advertisements out for 
her. 


150 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Mother ! said Simeon, standing in the porch, and 
calling Kachel out. 

What does thee want, father ? said Eachel, rubbing 
her floury hands, as she went into the porch. 

This child^s husband is in the settlement, and will be 
here to-night, said Simeon. 

^^Now, thee doesnT say that, father said Eachel, all 
her face radiant with joy. 

It’s really true. Peter was down yesterday, with the 
wagon, to the other stand, and there he found an old 
woman and two men ; and one said his name was George 
Harris ; and, from what he told of his history, I am cer- 
tain who he is. He is a bright, likely ffellow, too. Shall 
we tell her now ? ” said Simeon. 

Let^s tell Euth,^'’ said Eachel. Here, Euth, — come 
here.^^ 

Euth laid down her knitting-work, and was in the back 
porch in a moment. 

Euth, what does thee think ? said Eachel. Father 
says Eliza^s husband is in the last company, and will be 
here to-night.^'’ 

A burst of joy from the little Quakeress interrupted the 
speech. She gave such a bound from the floor, as she 
clapped her little hands, that two stray curls fell from under 
her Quaker cap, and lay brightly on her white neckerchief. 

Hush thee, dear ! said Eachel, gently ; hush, Euth ! 
Tell us, shall we tell her now ? " 

How ! to he sure, — this very minute. Why, now, sup- 
pose Twas my John, how should I feel ? Do tell her, right 

Thee uses thyself only to learn how to love thy neigh- 
bor, Euth,^^ said Simeon, looking, with a beaming face, on 
Euth. 

To be sure. Isn’t it what we are made for ? If I 
didn’t love John and the baby, I should not know how to 
feel for her. Come, now, do tell her, — do ! ” and she laid 
her hands persuasively on Eachel’s arm. Take her into 
thy bedroom, there, and let me fry the chicken while thee 
does it.” 

Eachel came out into the kitchen, where Eliza was sew- 
ing, and opening the door of a small bedroom said gently. 

Come in here with me, my daughter ; I have news to 
tell thee.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


151 


The blood flushed in Eliza’s pale face ; she rose, trem- 
bling with nervous anxiety, and looked towards her boy. 

No, no,” said little Euth, darting up, and seizing her 
hands. Never thee fear ; it’s good news, Eliza, — go in, 
go in ! ” And she gently pushed her to the door, which 
closed after her ; and then, turning round, she caught little 
Harry in her arms, and began kissing him. 

Thee’ll see thy father, little one. Does thee know it ? 
Thy father is coming,” she said, over and over again, as 
the boy looked wonderingly at her. 

Meanwhile within the door, another scene was going on. 
Kachel Halliday drew Eliza toward her, and said, ‘^The 
Lord hath had mercy on thee, daughter ; thy husband 
hath escaped from the house of bondage.” 

The blood flushed to Eliza’s cheek in a sudden glow, 
and went back to her heart with as sudden a rush. She 
sat down, pale and faint. 

Have courage, child,” said Rachel, laying her hand on 
her head. He is among friends, who will bring him here 
to-night.” 

To-night ! ” Eliza repeated, ^Ho-night !” The words 
lost all meaning to her ; her head was dreamy and con- 
fused ; all was mist for a moment. 


When she awoke, she found herself snugly tucked upon 
the bed, with a blanket over her, and little Ruth rubbing 
her hands with camphor. She opened her eyes in a state 
of dreamy, delicious languor, such as one has who has 
long been bearing a heavy load, and now feels it gone, and 
would rest. The tension of the nerves, which had never 
ceased a moment since the first hour of her flight, had 
given way, and a strange feeling of security and rest came 
over her ; and, as she lay, with her large, dark eyes open, 
she followed, as in a quiet dream, the motions of those 
about her. She saw the door open into the other room ; 
saw the supper-table, with its snowy cloth ; heard the 
dreamy murmur of the singing tea-kettle ; saw Ruth trip- 
ping backward and forward, with plates of cake and saucers 
of preserves, and ever and anon stopping to put a cake into 
Harry’s hand, or pat his head, or twine his long curls round 
her snowy fingers. She saw the ample, motherly form of 


152 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN ; OR, 


Rachel, as she ever and anon came to the bed-side, and 
smoothed and arranged something about the bed-clothes, 
and gave a tuck here and there, by way of expressing her 
good-will ; and was conscious of a kind of sunshine beam- 
ing down upon her from her large, clear, brown eyes. She 
saw Ruth^s husband come in, — saw her fly up to him, and 
commence whispering very earnestly, ever and anon, with 
impressive gesture, pointing her little Anger toward the 
room. She saw her, with the baby in her arms, sitting 
down to tea ; she saw them all at table, and little Harry in 
a high chair, under the shadow of RacheFs ample wing ; 
there were low murmurs of talk, gentle tinkling of tea- 
spoons, and musical clatter of cups and saucers, and all 
mingled in a delightful dream of rest ; and Eliza slept, as 
she had not slept before, since the fearful midnight hour 
when she had taken her child and fled through the frosty 
starlight. 

She dreamed of a beautiful country, — a land, it seemed 
to her, of rest, — green shores, pleasant islands, and beauti- 
fully glittering water ; and there, in a house which kind 
voices told her was a home, she saw her boy playing, a free 
and happy child. She heard her husband’s footsteps ; she 
felt him coming nearer ; his arms were around her, his 
tears falling on her face, and she awoke ! It was no dream. 
The daylight had long faded ; her child lay calmly sleep- 
ing by her side ; a candle was burning dimly on the stand, 
and her husband was sobbing by her pillow. 


The next morning was a cheerful one at the Quaker 
house. ^‘'Mother” was up betimes, and surrounded by 
busy girls and boys, whom we had scarce time to introduce 
to our readers yesterday, and who all moved obediently to 
Rachel’s gentle ^^Thee had better,” or more gentle 
Hadn’t thee better ? ” in the work of getting breakfast ; 
for a breakfast in the luxurious valleys of Indiana is a 
thing complicated and multiform, and, like picking up the 
rose-leaves and trimming the bushes in Paradise, asking 
other hands than those of the original mother. While, 
therefore, John ran to the spring for fresh water, and 
Simeon the second sifted meal for corn-cakes, and Mary 
ground coflee, Rachel moved gently and quietly about. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


153 


making biscuits, cutting up chicken, and diffusing a sort 
of sunny radiance over the whole proceeding generally. 
If there was any danger of friction or collision from the 
ill-regulated zeal of so many young operators, her gentle 

Come ! come \” or I wouldn^’t, now,^^ was quite suffi- 
cient to allay the difficulty. Bards have written of the 
cestus of Venus that turned the heads of all the world in 
successive generations. We had rather, for our part, have 
the cestus of Eachel Halliday, that kept heads from being 
turned, and made everything go on harmoniously. We 
think it is more suited to our modern days, decidedly. 

While all other preparations were going on, Simeon the 
elder stood in his shirt-sleeves before a little looking-glass 
in the corner, engaged in the antipatriarchal operation of 
shaving. Everything went on so sociably, so quietly, so 
harmoniously, in the great kitchen, — it seemed so pleasant 
to every one to do just what they were doing, there was 
such an atmosphere of mutual confidence and good fellow- 
ship everywhere, — even the knives and forks had a social 
clatter as they went on to the table ; and the chicken and 
ham had a cheerful and joyous fizzle in the pan, as if they 
rather enjoyed being cooked than otherwise ; — and when 
George and Eliza and little Harry came out, they met such 
a hearty, rejoicing welcome, no wonder it seemed to them 
like a dream. 

At last, they were all seated at breakfast, while Mary 
stood at the stove, baking griddle-cakes, which, as they 
gained the true exact golden-brown tint of perfection, were 
transferred quite handily to the table. 

Eachel never looked so truly and benignly happy as at 
the head of her table. There was so much motherliness 
and full-heartedness even in the way she passed a plate of 
cakes or poured a cup of coffee, that it seemed to put a 
spirit into the food and drink she offered. 

It was the first time that ever George had sat down on 
equal terms at any white many’s table ; and he sat down, at 
first, with some constraint and awkwardness ; but they all 
exhaled and went off like fog, in the genial morning rays 
of this simple overfiowing kindness. 

This, indeed, was a home, — home , — a word that George 
had never yet known a meaning for ; and a belief in God, 
and trust in His providence, began to encircle his heart, 
as, with a golden cloud of protection and confidence, dark. 


154 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


misanthropic, pining, atheistic doubts, and fierce despair, 
melted away before the light of a living Gospel, breathed 
in living faces, preached by a thousand unconscious acts of 
love and good-will, which, like the cup of cold water given 
in the name of a disciple, shall never lose their reward. 

Father, what if thee should get found out again 
said Simeon second, as he buttered his cake. 

I should pay my fine,” said Simeon, quietly. 

But what if they put thee in prison ? ” 

^^Couldn^t thee and mother manage the farm?” said 
Simeon, smiling. 

Mother can do almost everything,” said the boy. 
But isn^t it a shame to make such laws ? ” 

Thee mustnT speak evil of thy rulers, Simeon,” said 
his father, gravely. The Lord only gives us our worldly 
goods that we may do justice and mercy ; if our rulers 
require a price of us for it, we must deliver it up.” 

Well, I hate those old slaveholders ! ” said the boy, who 
felt as unchristian as became any modern reformer. 

I am surprised at thee, son,” said Simeon ; thy 
mother never taught thee so. I would do even the same 
for the slaveholder as for the slave, if the Lord brought 
him to my door in affliction.” 

Simeon second blushed scarlet ; but his mother only 
smiled, and said, Simeon is my good boy ; he will grow 
older, by and by, and then he will be like his father.” 

I hope, my good sir, that you are not exposed to any 
difflculty on our account,^'’ said George, anxiously. 

Fear nothing, George, for therefore are we sent into 
the world. If we would not meet trouble for a good cause, 
we were not worthy of our name.” 

But, for me,” said George, I could not bear it.” 

Fear not, then, friend George ; it is not for thee, but 
for God and man, we do it,” said Simeon. And now 
thou must lie by quietly this day, and to-night, at ten 
o’clock, Phineas Fletcher will carry thee onward to the next 
stand, — thee and the rest of thy company. The pursuers 
are hard after thee ; we must not delay.” 

If that is the case, why wait till evening ! ” said George. 

Thou art safe here by daylight, for every one in the 
settlement is a Friend, and all are watching. It has been 
found safer to travel by night,” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


155 


CHAPTER XIV. 

EVANGELIN-E. 

** A young star ! which shone 
O’er hfe — too sweet an image for such glass I 
A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded ; 

A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.” 

The Mississippi ! How, as by an enchanted wand, have 
its scenes been changed, since Chateaubriand wrote his 
prose-poetic description of it, as a river of mighty, un- 
broken solitudes, rolling amid undreamed wonders of vege- 
table and animal existence. 

But, as in an hour, this river of dreams and wild romance 
has emerged t6 a reality scarcely less visionary and splendid. 
What other river of the world bears on its bosom to the 
ocean the wealth and enterprise of such another country ? 
— a country whose products embrace all between the tropics 
and the poles ! Those turbid waters hurrying, foaming, 
tearing along, an apt resemblance of that headlong tide of 
business which is poured along its wave by a race more 
vehement and energetic than any the old world ever saw. 
Ah ! would that they did not also bear along a more fear- 
ful freight, — the tears of the oppressed, the sighs of the 
helpless, the bitter prayers of the poor, ignorant hearts to 
an unknown Cod — unknown, unseen, and silent, but who 
will yet come out of his place to save all the poor of the 
earth 

The slanting light of the setting sun quivers on the sea- 
like expanse of the river ; the shivery canes, and the tall, 
dark cypress, hung with wreaths of dark, funereal moss, 
glow in the golden ray, as the heavily-laden steamboat 
marches onward. 

Piled with cotton-bales, from many a plantation, up over 
deck and sides, till she seems in the distance a square, 
massive block of gray, she moves heavily onward to the 
nearing mart. We must look some time among its crowded 
decks before we shall find again our humble friend Tom 
High on the upper deck, in a little nook among the every 
where predominant cotton-balof^jj, at last we may find h^m 


156 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


Partly from confidence inspired by Mr. Shelby^s repre- 
sentations, and partly from the remarkably inoffensive and 
quiet character of the man, Tom had insensibly won his 
way far into the confidence even of such a man as Haley. 

At first he had watched him narrowly through the day, 
and never allowed him to sleep at night unfettered ; but 
the uncomplaining patience and apparent contentment 
of Tomb’s manner led him gradually to discontinue these 
restraints, and for some time Tom had enjoyed a sort of 
parole of honor, being permitted to come and go freely 
where he pleased on the boat. 

Ever quiet and obliging, and more than ready to lend a 
hand in every emergency which occurred among the work- 
men below, he had won the good opinion of all the hands, 
and spent many hours in helping them with as hearty a 
good will as ever he worked on a Kentucky farm. 

When there seemed to be nothing for him to do, he 
would climb to a nook among the cotton-bales of the upper 
deck, and busy himself in studying over his Bible, — and it 
is there we see him now. 

For a hundred or more miles above New Orleans, the 
river is higher than the surrounding country, and rolls its 
tremendous volume between massive levees twenty feet in 
height. The traveller from the deck of the steamer, as 
from some fioating castle top, overlooks the whole country 
for miles and miles around. Tom, therefore, had spread 
out full before him, in plantation after plantation, a map 
of the life to which he was approaching. 

He saw the distant slaves at their toil ; he saw afar their 
villages of huts gleaming out in long rows on many a plan- 
tation, distant from the stately mansions and pleasure- 
grounds of the master ; — and as the moving picture passed 
on, his poor, foolish heart would be turning backward to 
the Kentucky farm, with its old shadowy beeches, — to the 
master^s house, with its wide, cool halls, and, near by, the 
little cabin, overgrown with the multiflora and bignonia. 
There he seemed to see familiar faces of comrades, who 
had grown up with him from infancy ; he saw his busy 
wife, bustling in her preparations for his evening meals ; 
he heard the merry laugh of his boys at their play, and the 
chirrup of the baby at his knee ; and then, with a start, 
all faded, and he saw again the cane-brakes and cypresses 
and gliding plantations, and heard again the creaking and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 157 

groaning of the machinery, all telling him too plainly that 
all that phase of life had gone by forever. 

In such a case, you write to your wife, and send messages 
to your children ; but Tom could not write, — the mail for 
him had no existence, and the gulf of separation was un- 
bridged by even a friendly word or signal. 

Is it strange, then, that some tears fall on the pages of 
his Bible, as he lays it on the cotton-bale, and, with patient 
finger, threading his slow way from word to word, traces 
out its promises ? Having learned late in life, Tom was 
but a slow reader, and passed on laboriously from verse to 
verse. Fortunate for him was it that the book he was in- 
tent on was one which slow reading cannot injure, — nay, 
one whose words, like ingots of gold, seem often to need to 
be weighed separately, that the mind may take in their 
priceless value. Let us follow him a moment, as, pointing 
to each word, and pronouncing each half aloud, he reads. 
Let — not — your — heart— be — troubled. In — my — 
Father^s — house — are — many — mansions. I-^go — to — pre- 
pare — a — place — for — you. 

Cicero, when he buried his darling and only daughter, 
had a heart as full of honest grief as poor Tomb’s — perhaps 
no fuller, for both were only men ; — but Cicero could pause 
over no such sublime words of hope, and look to no such 
future reunion ; and if he had seen them, ten to one he 
would not have believed, — he must fill his head first with 
a thousand questions of authenticity of manuscript, and 
correctness of translation. But, to poor Tom, there it lay, 
just what he needed, so evidently true and divine that the 
possibility of a question never entered his simple head. It 
must be true ; for, if not true, how could he live ? 

As for Tom^s Bible, though it had no annotations and 
helps in margin from learned commentators, still it had 
been embellished with certain way-marks and guide-boards 
of Tomb’s own invention, and which helped him more than 
the most learned expositions could have done. It had 
been his custom to get the Bible read to him by his masters 
children, in particular by young Master George ; and, as 
they read, he would designate, by bold, strong marks and 
dashes, with pen and ink, the passages which more par- 
ticularly gratified his ear or affected his heart. His Bible 
was thus marked through, from one end to the other, with 
a variety of styles and designations ; so he could in a mo- 


158 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


ment seize upon his favorite passages, without the labor oi 
spelling out what lay between them ; and while it lay there 
before him, every passage breathing of some old home 
scene, and recalling some past enjoyment, his Bible seemed 
to him all of this life that remained, as well as the promise 
of a future one. 

Among the passengers on the boat was a young gentle- 
man of fortune and family, resident in New Orleans, who 
bore the name of St. Clare. He had with him a daughter 
between five and six years of age, together with a lady who 
seemed to claim relationship to both, and to have the little 
one especially under her charge. 

Tom had often caught glimpses of this little girl, — for 
she was one of those busy, tripping creatures, that can be 
no more contained in one place than a sunbeam or a sum- 
mer breeze, — nor was she one that, once seen, could be 
easily forgotten. 

Her form was the perfection of childish beauty, without 
its usual chubbiness and squareness of outline. There was 
about it an undulating and aerial grace, such as one might 
dream of for some mythic and allegorical being. Her face 
was remarkable less for its perfect beauty of feature than 
for a singular and dreamy earnestness of expression, which 
made the idea^ start when they looked at her, and by 
which the dullest and most literal were impressed, without 
exactly knowing why. The shape of her head and the turn 
of her neck and bust was peculiarly noble, and the long 
golden-brown hair that fioated like a cloud around it, the 
deep spiritual gravity of her violet blue eyes, shaded by 
heavy fringes of golden brown, — all marked her out from 
other children, and made every one turn and look after 
her, as she glided hither and thither on the boat. Never- 
theless, the little one was not what you would have called 
either a ^ave child or a sad one. On the contrary, an 
airy and innocent playfulness seemed to flicker like the 
shadow of summer leaves over her childish face, and around 
her buoyant figure. She was always in motion, always with 
a half smile on her rosy mouth, flying hither and thither, 
with an undulating and cloud-like tread, singing to herself 
as she moved as in a happy dream. Her father and female 
guardian were incessantly busy in pursuit of her, — but, 
when caught, she melted from them again like a summer 
cloud ; and as no word of chiding or reproof ever fell on 


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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


159 


ner ear for whatever she chose to do, she pursued her own 
way all oyer the boat. Always dressed in white, she seemed 
to move like a shadow through all sorts of places, without 
contracting spot or stain ; and there was not a corner or 
nook, above or below, where those fairy footsteps had not 
glided, and that visionary golden head, with its deep blue 
eyes, fleeted along. 

The fireman, as he looked up from his sweaty toil, some- 
times found those eyes looking wonderingly into the raging 
depths of the furnace, and fearfully and pityingly at him, 
as if she thought him in some dreadful danger. Anon 
the steersman at the wheel paused and smiled, as the picture- 
like head gleamed through the window of the round house, 
and in a moment was gone again. A thousand times a day 
rough voices blessed her, and smiles of unwonted softness 
stole over hard faces, as she passed ; and when she tripped 
fearlessly over dangerous places, rough, sooty hands were 
stretched involuntarily out to save her, and smooth her 
path. 

Tom, who had the soft, impressible nature of his kindly 
race, ever yearning toward the simple and childlike, watched 
the little creature with daily increasing interest. To him 
s^’^'e seemed something almost divine ; and whenever her 
gc den head and deep blue eyes peered out upon him from 
behind some dusky cotton-bale, or looked down upon him 
over some ridge of packages, he half believed that he saw 
one of the angels stepped out of his New Testament. 

Often and often she walked mournfully round the place 
where Haley^s gang of men and women sat in their chains. 
She would glide in among them, and look at them with an 
air of perplexed and sorrowful earnestness ; and sometimes 
she would lift their chains with her slender hands, and 
then sigh wofully, as she glided away. Several times she 
appeared suddenly among them, with her hands full of 
candy, nuts, and oranges, which she would distribute joy- 
fully to them, and then be gone again. 

Tom watched the little lady a great deal, before he vent- 
ured on any overtures towards acquaintanceship. He 
knew an abundance of simple acts to propitiate and invite 
the approaches of the little people, and he resolved to play 
his part right skilfully. He could cut cunning little baskets 
out of cherry-stones, could make grotesque faces on hick- 
ory-nuts, or odd- jumping figures out of elder-pith, and he 


160 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


was a very Pan in the manufacture of whistles of all sizes 
and sorts. His pockets were full of miscellaneous articles 
of attraction, which he had hoarded in days of old for his 
master^s children, and which he now produced, with com- 
mendable prudence and economy, one by one, as overtures 
for acquaintance and friendship. 

The little one was shy, for all her busy interest in every- 
thing going on, and it was not easy to tame her. For a 
while, she would perch like a canary-bird on some box or 
package near Tom, while busy in the little arts afore-named, 
and take from him, with a kind of grave bashfulness, the 
little articles he offered. But at last they got on quite 
confidential terms. 

^^WhaPs little missy^s name said Tom, at last, when" 
he thought matters were ripe to push such an inquiry. 

Evangeline St. Clare,'’'’ said the little one, though 
papa and everybody else call me Eva. Now, whaPs your 
name ? 

My name^s Tom ; the little chiPen used to call me 
Uncle Tom, way back thar in Kentuck.^^ 

Then I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you 
see, I like you,^^ said Eva. So, Uncle Tom, where are 
you going ? ” 

I donT know. Miss Eva.^^ 

DonT know ? said Eva. 

^^No. I am going to be sold to somebody. I don^t 
know who." 

My papa can buy you," said Eva, quickly; and if 
he buys you, you will have good times. I mean to ask 
him to, this very day." 

Thank you, my little lady," said Tom. 

The boat here stopped at a small landing to take in 
wood, and Eva, hearing her father^s voice, bounded nimbly 
away. Tom rose up, and went forward to offer his service 
in wooding, and soon was busy among the hands. 

Eva and her father were standing together by the rail- 
ings to see the boat start from the landing-place, the wheel 
had made two or three revolutions in the water, when, by 
some sudden movement, the little one suddenly lost her 
balance, and fell sheer over the side of the boat into the 
water. Her father, scarce knowing what he did, was 
plunging in after her, but was held back by some behind 
nim, who saw that more efficient aid had followed his child. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


161 


Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck, as 
she fell. He saw her strike the water, and sink, and was 
after her in a moment. A broad-chested, strong-armed 
fellow, it was nothing for him to keep afloat in the v/ater, 
till, in a moment or two, the child rose to the surface, and 
he caught her in his arms, and, swinging with her to the 
boat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of 
hundreds of hands, which, as if they had all belonged to 
one man, were stretched eagerly out to receive her. A 
few moments more, and her father bore her, dripping and 
senseless, to the ladies^ cabin, where, as is usual in cases 
of the kind, there ensued a very well-meaning and kind- 
hearted strife among the female occupants generally, as to 
who should do the most things to make a disturbance, and 
to hinder her recovery in every way possible. 


It was a sultry, close day, the next day, as the steamer 
drew near to New Orleans. A general bustle of expecta- 
tion and preparation was spread through the boat ; in the 
cabin, one and another were gathering their things to- 
gether, and arranging them, preparatory to going ashore. 
The steward and chambermaid, and all, were busily en- 
gaged in cleaning, furbishing, and arranging the splendid 
boat, preparatory to a grand entree. 

On the lower deck sat our friend Tom, with his arms 
folded, and anxiously, from time to time, turning his eyes 
towards a group on the other side of the boat. 

There stood the fair Evangeline, a little paler than the 
day before, but otherwise exhibiting no traces of the acci- 
dent which had befallen her. A graceful elegantly-formed 
young man stood by her, carelessly leaning one elbow on a 
bale of cotton, while a large pocket-book lay open before 
him. It was quite evident, at a glance, that the gentle- 
man was Evan’s father. There was the same noble cast of 
head, the same large blue eyes, the same golden-brown hair ; 
yet the expression was wholly different. In the large, clear 
blue eyes, though in form and color exactly similar, there 
was wanting that misty, dreamy depth of expression ; all 
was clear, bold, and bright, but with a light wholly of this 
world : the beautifully cut mouth had a proud and some- 
what sarcastic expression, while an air of free-and-easy 

II 


162 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OR, 


superiority sat not ungracefully in every turn and move< 
ment of his fine form. He was listening, with a good- 
humored, negligent air, half comic, half contemptuous, to 
Haley, who was very volubly expatiating on the quality of 
the article for which they were bargaining. 

All the moral and Christian virtues bound in black 
morocco, complete ! he said, when Haley had finished. 
“ Well, now, my good fellow, whaCs the damage, as they 
say in Kentucky ; in short, what’s to be paid out for this 
business ? How much are you going to cheat me, now ? 
Out with it ! ” 

Wal,” said Haley, if I should say thirteen hundred 
dollars for that ar fellow, I shouldn’t but just save myself ; 
I shouldn’t, now, re’ly.” 

Poor fellow ! ” said the young man, fixing his keen, 
mocking blue eye on him ; but I suppose you’d let me 
have him for that, out of a particular regard for me.” 

Well, the young lady here seems to be sot on him, and 
nat’lly enough.” 

0, certainly, there’s a call on your benevolence, my 
friend. Now, as a matter of Christian charity, how cheap 
could you afford to let him go, to oblige a young lady that’s 
particular sot on him ? ” 

“ AYal, now, just think on’t,” said the trader ; just 
look at them limbs, — broad-chested, strong as a horse. 
Look at his head ; them high forrads allays shows calcula- 
tin’ niggers, that’ll do any kind o’ thing. I’ve marked 
that ar. Now, a nigger of that ar heft and build is worth 
considerable, just, as you may say, for his body, supposin’ 
he’s stupid ; but come to put in his calculatin’ faculties, 
and them which I can show he has oncommon, why, of 
course, it makes him come higher. Why, that ar fellow 
managed his master’s whole farm. He has a ’strornary 
talent for business.” 

Bad, bad, very bad ; knows altogether too much ! ” 
said the young man, with the same mocking smile playing 
about his mouth. Never will do, in the world. Your 
smart fellows are always running off, stealing horses, and 
raising the devil generally. I think you’ll have to take off 
a couple of hundred for his smartness.” 

Wal, there might be something in that ar, if it warn’t 
for his character ; but I can show recommends from his 
master and others, to prove he is one of your real pious, — 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


163 


tlie most humble, prayin^, pious critter ye ever did see. 
Why, he^s been called a preacher in them parts he came 
frorn.^^ 

And I might use him for a family chaplain, possibly, 
added the young man, dryly. That's quite an idea. 
Keligion is a remarkably scarce article at our house." 

You're joking now." 

^ How do you know I am ? Didn't you just warrant 
him for a preacher ? Has he been examined by any synod 
or council ? Come, hand over your papers." 

If the trader had not been sure, by a certain good-humore(? 
twinkle in the large blue eye, that all this banter was sure, 
in the long run, to turn out a cash concern, he might have 
been somewhat out of patience ; as it was he laid down a 
greasy pocket-book on the cotton-bales, and began anxiously 
studying over certain papers in it, the young man standing 
by, the while, looking down on him with an air of careless, 
easy drollery. 

Papa, do buy him ! it's no matter what you pay," 
whispered Eva, softly, getting up on a package, and put- 
ting her arm around her father's neck. You have money 
enough, I know. I want him." 

What for, pussy ? Are you going to use him for a rattle- 
box, or a rocking-horse, or what ? " 

I want to make him happy." 

An original reason, certainly." 

Here the trader handed up a certificate, signed by Mr. 
Shelby, which the young man took with the tips of his long 
fingers, and glanced over carelessly. 

A gentlemanly hand," he said, ^^and well spelt, too. 
Well, now, but I'm not sure, after all, about this religion," 
said he, the old wicked expression returning to his eye ; 
^‘^the country is almost ruined with pious white people: 
such pious politicians as we have just before elections, — 
such pious goings on in all departments of church and 
state, that a fellow does not know who'll cheat him next. 
I don't know, either, about religion being up in the market 
just now. I have not looked in the papers lately, to see 
how it sells. How many hundred dollars, now, do you put 
on for this religion ? " 

You like to be a-jokin, now," said the trader ; ^‘^but, 
then, there's sense under all that ar. I know there's 
differences in religion. Some kinds is mis'rable : there's 


164 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


your meetin’ pious ; there’s your singin’, roarin’ pious ; them 
ar an’t no account, in black or white ; — but these raily is ; 
and I’ve seen it in niggers as often as any, your rail softly, 
quiet, stiddy, honest, pious, that the hull world couldn’t 
tempt ’em to do nothing that they thinks is wrong ; and ye 
see in this letter what Tom’s old master says about him.” 

“ Now,” said the young man, stooping gravely over his 
book of bills, if you can assure me that I really can buy 
this kind of pious, and that it will be set down to my ac- 
count in the book up above, as something belonging to me, 
I wouldn’t care if I did go a little extra for it. How d’ye 
say ?” 

Wal, raily I can’t do that,” said the trader. ^^I’m a- 
thinkin that every man’ll have to hang on his own hook, 
in them ar quarters.” 

Rather hard on a fellow that pays extra on religion, 
and can’t trade with it in the state where he wants it most, 
an’t it, now ? ” said the young man, who had been making 
out a roll of bills while he was speaking. There, count 
your money, old boy ! ” he added, as he handed the roll to 
the trader. 

All right,” said Haley, his face beaming with delight ; 
and pulling out an old inkhorn, he proceeded to fill out a 
bill of sale, which, in a few moments he handed to the 
young man. 

I wonder, now, if I was divided up and inventoried,” 
said the latter, as he ran over the paper, ‘'‘'how much I 
might bring. Say so much for the shape of my head, so 
much for a high forehead, so much for arms, and hands, and 
legs, and then so much for education, learning, talent, hon- 
esty, religion ! Bless me ! there would be small charge on 
that last, I’m thinking. But come, Eva,” he said ; and tak- 
ing the hand of his daughter, he stepped across the boat, 
and carelessly putting the tip of his finger under Tom’s 
chin, said, good-humoredly, Look up, Tom, and see how 
you like your new master.” 

Tom looked up. It was not in nature to look into that 
gay, young, handsome face, without a feeling of pleasure ; 
and Tom felt the tears start in his eyes as he said, heartily, 

God bless you, Mas’r ! ” 

‘^Well, I hope He will. What’s your name? Tom? 
Quite as likely to do it for your asking as mine, from all 
accounts. Can you drive horses, Tom ? ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


165 


^^Tvebeen allays used to horses," said Tom. Mas^r 
Shelby raised heaps on ^em." 

“ Well, I think I shall put you in coachy, on condition 
that you wonT be drunk more than once a week, unless in 
cases of emergency, Tom." 

Tom looked surprised, and rather hurt, and said, 
never drink, Mas^r." 

Fve heard that story before, Tom ; but then wee’ll see. 
It will be a special accommodation to all concerned if you 
donT. Never mind, my boy," he added, good-humoredly, 
seeing Tom still looked grave ; I donT doubt you mean 
to do well." 

I sartin do. Mash," said Tom. 

And you shall have good times," said Eva. Papa is 
very good to everybody, only he always will laugh at them." 

Papa is much obliged to you for his recommendation," 
said St. Clare, laughing, as he turned on his heel and 
walked away. 


CHAPTEE XV. 

OF TOMh FEW MASTER, VARIOUS OTHER MATTERS. 

SiHCE the thread of our humble heroh life has now 
become interwoven with that of higher ones, it is necessary 
to give some brief introduction to them. 

Augustine St. Clare was the son of a wealthy planter of 
Louisiana. The family had its origin in Canada. Of two 
brothers, very similar in temperament and character, one 
had settled on a flourishing farm in Vermont, and the 
other became an opulent planter in Louisiana. The 
mother of Augustine was a Huguenot French lady, whose 
family had emigrated to Louisiana during the days of its 
early settlement. Augustine and another brother were 
the only children of their parents. Having inherited from 
his mother an exceeding delicacy of constitution, he was, 
at the instance of physicians, during many years of his 
boyhood, sent to the care of his uncle in Vermont, in order 
that his constitution might be strengthened by the cold of 
a more bracing climate. 

In childhood, he was remarkable for an extreme and 
marked sensitiveness of character, more akin to the soft- 
ness of woman than the ordinary hardness of his own sex. 


166 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


Time, however, overgrew this softness with the rough bark 
of manhood, and but few knew how living and fresh it still 
lay at the core. His talents were of the very first order, 
although his mind showed a preference always for the 
ideal and the aesthetic, and there was about him that re- 
pugnance to the actual business of life which is the com- 
mon result of this balance of the faculties. Soon after 
the completion of his college course, his whole nature was 
kindled into one intense and passionate effervescence of 
romantic passion. His hour came, — the hour that comes 
only once ; his star rose in the horizon, — that star that 
rises so often in vain, to be remembered only as a thing of 
dreams ; and it rose for him in vain. To drop the figure, 
— he saw and won the love of a high-minded and beautiful 
woman, in one of the northern states, and they were af- 
fianced. He returned south to make arrangements for 
their marriage, when, most unexpectedly, his letters were 
returned to him by mail, with a short note from her guard- 
ian, stating to him that ere this reached him the lady 
would be the wife of another. Stung to madness, he 
vainly hoped, as many another has done, to fling the whole 
thing from his heart by one desperate effort. Too proud 
to supplicate or seek explanation, he threw himself at once 
into a whirl of fashionable society, and in a fortnight from 
the time of the fatal letter was the accepted lover of the 
reigning belle of the season ; and as soon as arrangements 
could be made, he became the husband of a fine figure, a 
pair of bright dark eyes, and a hundred thousand dollars ; 
and, of course, everybody thought him a happy fellow. 

The married couple were enjoying their honeymoon, 
and entertaining a brilliant circle of friends in their splen- 
did villa, near Lake Pontchartrain, when, one day, a letter 
was brought to him in that well-remembered writing. It 
was handed to him while he was in full tide of gay and 
successful conversation, in a whole room-full of company. 
He turned deadly pale when he saw the writing, but still 
preserved his composure, and finished the playful warfare 
of badinage which he was at the moment carrying on with 
a lady opposite ; and, a short time after, was missed from 
the circle. In his room, alone, he opened and read the 
letter, now worse than idle and useless to be read. It was 
from her, giving a long account of a persecution to which 
she had been exposed by her guardian^s family, to lead her 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


167 


to unite herself with their son : and she related how, for a 
long time, his letters had ceased to arrive ; how she had 
written time and again, till she became weary and doubt- 
ful ; how her health had failed under her anxieties, and 
how, at last, she had discovered the whole fraud which 
had been practised on them both. The letter ended with 
expressions of hope and thankfulness, and professions of 
undying affection, which were more bitter than death to 
the unhappy young man. He wrote to her immediately. 

I have received yours, — hut too late. I believed all I 
heard. I was desperate. / am married, and all is over. 
Only forget, — it is all that remains for either of us.^^ 

And thus ended the whole romance and ideal of life for 
Augustine St. Clare. But the real remained, — the real, 
like the flat, bare, oozy tide-mud, when the blue sparkling 
wave, with all its company of gliding boats and white- 
winged ships, its music of oars and chiming waters, has 
gone down, and there it lies, flat> slimy, bare, — exceedingly 
real. 

Of course, in a novel, people^s hearts break, and they die, 
and that is the end of it ; and in a story this is very conven- 
ient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes 
life bright dies to us. There is a most busy and important 
round of eating, drinking, dressing, walking, visiting, buy- 
ing, selling, talking, reading, and all that makes up what 
is commonly called living, yet to be gone through ; and 
this yet remained to Augustine. Had his wife been a whole 
woman, she might yet have done something — as woman 
can — to mend the broken threads of life, and weave again 
into a tissue of brightness. But Marie St. Clare could not 
even see that they had been broken. As before stated, 
she consisted of a fine figure, a pair of splendid eyes, and 
a hundred thousand dollars ; and none of these items were 
precisely the ones to minister to a mind diseased. 

When Augustine, pale as death, was found lying on the 
sofa, and pleaded sudden sick-headache as the cause of his 
distress, she recommended to him to smell of hartshorn ; 
and when the paleness and headache came on week after 
Aveek, she only said that she never thought Mr. St. Clare 
was sickly ; but it seems he was very liable to sick-head- 
aches, and that it was a very unfortunate thing for her, 
because he didnT enjoy going into company with her, and 
it seemed odd to go so much alone, when they were just 


168 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


married. Augustine was glad in his heart that he had 
married so undiscerning a woman ; but as the glosses and 
civilities of the honeymoon wore away, he discovered that 
a beautiful young woman, who has lived all her life to be 
caressed and waited on, might prove quite a hard mistresa 
in domestic life. Marie never had possessed much capabil- 
ity of affection, or much sensibility, and the little that she 
had, had been merged into a most intense and unconscious 
selfishness ; a selfishness the more hopeless, from its quiet 
obtuseness, its utter ignorance of any claims but her own. 
From her infancy, she had been surrounded with servants, 
who lived only to study her caprices ; the idea that they 
had either feelings or rights had never dawned upon her, 
even in distant perspective. Her father, whose only child 
she had been, had never denied her anything that lay 
within the compass of human possibility ; and when she 
entered life, beautiful, accomplished, and an heiress, she 
had, of course, all the eligibles and non-eligibles of the 
other sex sighing at her feet, and she had no doubt that 
Augustine was a most fortunate man in having obtained 
her. It is a great mistake to suppose that a woman with no 
heart will be an easy creditor in the exchange of affections. 
There is not on earth a more merciless exactor of love from 
others than a thoroughly selfish woman ; and the more 
unlovely she grows, the more jealously and scrupulously 
she exacts love, to the uttermost farthing. When, there- 
fore, St. Clare began to drop off those gallantries and small 
attentions, which flowed at first through the habitude of 
courtship, he found his sultana no way ready to resign her 
slave ; there were abundance of tears, p outings, and small 
tempests, there were discontents, pinings, upbraidings. 
St. Clare was good-natured and self-indulgent, and sought 
to buy off with presents and flatteries ; and when Marie 
became mother to a beautiful daughter, he really felt awak^ 
ened, for a time, to something like tenderness. 

St. Clare’s mother had been a woman of uncommor 
elevation and purity of character, and he gave to this child 
his mother’s name, fondly fancying that she would prove 
a reproduction of her image. The thing had been re- 
marked with petulant jealousy by his wife, and she re^ 
garded her husband’s absorbing devotion to the child with 
suspicion and dislike ; all that was given to her seemed so 
much taken from herself. From the time of the birth of 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


16S 


this child, her health gradually sunk. A life of constant 
inaction, bodily and mental, — the friction of ceaseless 
ennui and discontent, united to the ordinary weakness 
which attended the period of maternity, — in course of a 
few years changed the blooming young belle into a yellow, 
faded, sickly woman, whose time was divided among a 
variety of fanciful diseases, and who considered herself, in 
every sense, the most ill-used and suffering person in ex- 
istence. 

There was no end of her various complaints ; but her 
principal forte appeared to lie in sick-headache, which 
sometimes would confine her to her room three days out 
of six. As, of course, all family arrangements fell into 
the hands of servants, St. Clare found his menage any- 
thing but comfortable. His only daughter was exceed- 
ingly delicate, and he feared that, with no one to look 
after her and attend to her, her health and life might yet 
fall a sacrifice to her mother^s inefficiency. He had taken 
her with him on a tour to Vermont, and had persuaded his 
cousin, 'Miss Ophelia St. Clare, to return with him to his 
southern residence ; and they are now returning on this 
boat, where we have introduced them to our readers. 

And now, while the distant domes and spires of Hew 
Orleans rise to our view, there is yet time for an introduc- 
tion to Miss Ophelia. 

Whoever has travelled in the New England States will 
remember, in some cool village, the large farm-house, with 
its clean-swept grassy yard, shaded by the dense and mas- 
sive foliage of the sugar maple ; and remember the air of 
order and stillness, of perpetuity and unchanging repose, 
that seemed to breathe over the whole place. Nothing 
lost, or out of order ; not a picket loose in the fence, not 
a particle of litter in the turf yard, with its clumps of 
lilac-bushes growing up under the windows. Within, he 
will remember wide, clean rooms, where nothing ever 
seems to be doing or going to be done, where everything 
is once and forever rigidly in place, and where all house- 
hold arrangements move with the punctual exactness of 
the old clock in the corner. In the family keeping- 
room,"' as it is termed, he will remember the staid, respec- 
table old book-case, with its glass doors, where Eollin's 
History, Milton's Paradise Lost, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress, and Scott's Family Bible, stand side by side in 


170 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


decorous order, with multitudes of other books, equally 
solemn and respectable. There are no servants in the 
house, but the lady in the snowy cap, with the spectacles, 
who sits sewing every afternoon among her daughters, as if 
nothing ever had been done, or were to be done, — she and 
her girls, in some long-forgotten fore part of the day, did 
up the toork” and for the rest of the time, probably, 
at all hours when you would see them, it is do7ie up” 
The old kitchen floor never seems stained or spotted ; the 
tables, the chairs, and the various cooking-utensils, never 
seem deranged or disordered ; though three and some- 
times four meals a day are got there, though the family 
washing and ironing is there performed, and though 
pounds of butter and cheese are in some silent and mys- 
terious manner there brought into existence. 

On such a farm, in such a house and family. Miss Ophe- 
lia had spent a quiet existence of some forty-flve years, 
when her cousin invited her to visit his southern mansion. 
The eldest of a large family, she was still considered by her 
father and mother as one of the children,'’^ and the pro- 
posal that she should go to Of'lemis was a most moment- 
ous one to the family circle. The old gray-headed father 
took down Morsels Atlas out of the book-case, and looked 
out the exact latitude and longitude ; and read Flint^s Tra- 
vels in the South and West, to make up his own mind as 
to the nature of the country. 

The good mother inquired, anxiously, ‘^if Orleans wasnT 
an awful wicked place, saying, that it seemed to her 
most equal to going to the Sandwich Islands, or anywhere 
among the heathen. 

It was known at the minister’s, and at the doctor’s, and 
at Miss Peabody’s milliner shop, that Ophelia St. Clare 
was talking about” going away down to Orleans with 
her cousin ; and of course the whole village could do no 
less than help this very important process of talking about 
the matter. The minister, who inclined strongly to aboli- 
tionist views, was quite doubtful whether such a step might 
not tend somewhat to encoiirage the southerners in holding 
on to their slaves ; while the doctor, who was a stanch 
colonizationist, inclined to the opinion that Miss Ophelia 
ought to go, to show the Orleans people that we don’t think 
hardly of them, after all. He was of opinion, in fact, that 
southern people needed encouraging. When, however, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


171 


the fact that she had resolved to go was fully before the 
public mind, she was solemnly invited out to tea by all her 
friends and neighbors for the space of a fortnight, and 
her prospects and plans duly canvassed and inquired into. 
Miss Moseley, who came into the house to help to do the 
dress-making, acquired daily accessions of importance 
from the developments with regard to Miss Ophelia^’s ward- 
robe which she had been enabled to make. It was credibly 
ascertained that Squire Sinclare, as his name was com- 
monly contracted in the neighborhood, had counted out 
fifty dollars, and given them to Miss Ophelia, and told her 
to buy any clothes she thought best ; and that two new 
silk dresses, and a bonnet, had been sent for from Boston. 
As to the propriety of this extraordinary outlay, the public 
mind was divided, — some affirming that it was well enough, 
all things considered, for once in one^s life, and others 
stoutly affirming that the money had better have been 
sent to the missionaries ; but all parties agreed that there 
had been no such parasol seen in those parts as had been 
sent on from 'New York, and that she had one silk dress 
that might fairly be trusted to stand alone, whatever might 
be said of its mistress. There were credible rumors, also, 
of a hemstitched pocket-handkerchief ; and report even 
went so far as to state that Miss Ophelia had one pocket- 
handkerchief with lace all around it, — it was even added 
that it was worked in the corners ; but this latter point 
was never satisfactorily ascertained, and remains, in fact, 
unsettled to this day. 

Miss Ophelia, as you now behold her, stands before you, 
in a very shining brown linen travelling-dress, tall, square- 
formed and angular. Her face was thin, and rather sharp 
in its outlines ; the lips compressed, like those of a person 
who is in the habit of making up her mind definitely on 
all subjects ; while the keen, dark eyes had a peculiarly 
searching, advised movement, and travelled over every- 
thing, as if they were looking for something to take care 
of. 

All her movements were sharp, decided, and energetic ; 
and, though she was never much of a talker, her words 
were remarkably direct, and to the purpose, when she did 
speak. 

In her habits, she was a living impersonation of order, 
method, and exactness. In punctuality, she was as in- 


172 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


evitable as a clock, and as inexorable as a railroad engine 
and she held in most decided contempt and abomination 
anything of a contrary character. 

The great sin of sins, in her eyes, — the sum of all evils, 
— was expressed by one very common and important word 
in her vocabulary — shiftlessness. Her finale and ul- 
timatum of contempt consisted in a very emphatic pro- 
nunciation of the word shiftless ; and by this she char- 
acterized all modes of procedure which had not a direct 
and inevitable relation to accomplishment of some purpose 
then definitely had in mind. People who did nothing, or 
who did not know exactly what they were going to do, or 
who did not take the most direct way to accomplish what 
they set their hands to, were objects of her entire con- 
tempt, — a contempt shown less frequently by anything she 
said, than by a kind of stony grimness, as if she scorned to 
say anything about the matter. 

As to mental cultivation, — she had a clear, strong, active 
mind, was well and thoroughly read in history and the 
older English classics, and thought with great strength 
within certain narrow limits. Her theological tenets were 
all made up, labelled in mo§t positive and distinct forms, 
and put by, like the bundles in her patch trunk ; there 
were just so many of them, and there were never to be any 
more. So, also, were her ideas with regard to most mat- 
ters of practical life, — such as housekeeping in all its 
branches, and the various political relations of her native 
village. And, underlying all, deeper than anything else, 
higher and broader, lay the strongest principle of her be- 
ing — conscientiousness. Nowhere is conscience" so domi- 
nant and all-absorbing as with New England women. It 
is the granite formation, which lies deepest, and rises out, 
even to the tops of the highest mountains. 

Miss Ophelia was the absolute bond-slave of the ought. 
Once make her certain that the path of duty,'’^ as she 
commonly phrased it, lay in any given direction, and fire 
and water could not keep her from it. She would walk 
straight down into a well, or up to a loaded cannon^s mouth, 
if she were only quite sure that there the path lay. Her 
standard of right was so high, so all-embracing, so minute, 
and making so few concessions to human frailty, that, 
though she strove with heroic ardor to reach it, she never 
actually did so, and of course was burdened with a com 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


17a 


stant and often harassing sense of deficiency ; — this gave 
a severe and somewhat gloomy cast to her religious chan 
acter. 

But, how in the world can Miss Ophelia get along with 
Augustine St. Clare, — gay, easy, unpunctual, unpractical, 
sceptical, — in short, walking with impudent and nonchal- 
ant freedom over every one of her most cherished habits 
and opinions ? 

To tell the truth, then. Miss Ophelia loved him. When 
a boy, it had been hers to teach him his catechism, mend 
his clothes, comb his hair, and bring him up generally in 
the way he should go ; and her heart having a warm side 
to it, Augustine had, as he usually did with most people, 
monopolized a large share of it for himself, and therefore 
it was that he succeeded very easily in persuading her that 
the "^path of duty^"* lay in the direction of New Orleans, 
and that she must go with him to take care of Eva, and 
keep everything from going to wreck and ruin during the 
frequent illnesses of his wife. The idea of a house with- 
out anybody to take care of it went to her heart ; then she 
loved the lovely little girl, as few could help doing ; and 
though she regarded Augustine as very much of a hea- 
then, yet she loved him, laughed at his jokes, and forbore 
with his failings, to an extent which those who knew him 
thought perfectly incredible. But what more or other is 
to be known of Miss Ophelia our reader must discover by 
a personal acquaintance. 

There she is, sitting now in her state-room, surrounded 
by a mixed multitude of little and big carpet-bags, boxes, 
baskets, each containing some separate responsibility which 
she is tying, binding up, packing, or fastening, with a face 
of great earnestness. 

^^Now, Eva, have you kept count of your things ? Of 
course you havenT, — children never do : there^s the spotted 
carpet-bag and the little blue band-box with your best 
bonnet, — that^s two ; then the India rubber satchel is 
three ; and my tape and needle box is four ; and my band- 
box, five ; and my collar-box, six ; and that little hair 
trunk, seven. What have you done with your sunshade ? 
Give it to me, and let me put a paper round it, and tie it to 
my umbrella with my shade ; — there, now." 

Why, aunty, we are only going up home ; — what is 
the use r " 


174 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


To keep it nice, child ; people must take care of then 
things, if they ever mean to have anything ; and now, Eva, 
is your thimble put up ? 

^^Eeally, aunty, I donT know/’ 

^MVell, never mind ; I’ll look your box over, — thimble, 
wax, two spools, scissors, knife, tape-needle ; all right, — put 
it in here. What did you ever do, child, when you were 
coming on with only your papa. I should have thought 
you’d a lost everything you had.” 

Well, aunty, I did lose a great many ; and then, when 
we stopped anywhere, papa would buy some more of what- 
ever it was.” 

Mercy on us, child, — what a way ! ” 

It was a very easy way, aunty,” said Eva. 

It’s a dreadful shiftless one,” said aunty. 

Why, aunty, what’ll you do now ? ” said Eva ; that 
trunk is too full to be shut down.” 

It must shut down,” said aunty, with the air of a 
general, as she scjueezed the things in, and sprung upon 
the lid ; — still a little gap remained about the mouth of 
the trunk. 

Gret up here, Eva ! ” said Miss Ophelia, courageously ; 
what has been done can be done again. This trunk has 
got to be shut and locked — there are no two ways about it.” 

And the trunk, intimidated, doubtless, by this resolute 
statement, gave in. The hasp snapped sharply in its 
hole, and Miss Ophelia turned the key, and pocketed it in 
triumph. 

Now we’re ready. Where’s your papa ? I think it 
time this baggage was set out. Do look out, Eva, and see 
if you see your papa.” 

0 yes, he’s down the other end of the gentlemen’s 
cabin, eating an orange.” 

He can’t know how near we are coming,” said aunty ; 
hadn’t you better run and speak to him ? ” 

Papa never is in a hurry about anything,” said Eva, 
and we haven’t come to the landing. Do step on the 
guards, aunty. Look ! there’s our house, up that street ! ” 
The boat now began, with heavy groans, like some vast, 
tired monster, to prepare to push up among the multiplied 
steamers at the levee. Eva joyously pointed out the various 
spires, domes, and way-marks, by which she recognized her 
native city. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


175 


Yes, yes, dear ; very fine,'^ said Miss Ophelia. But 
mercy on us ! the boat has stopped ! where is your 
father ? 

And now ensued the usual turmoil of landing — waiters 
running twenty ways at once — men tugging trunks, carpet- 
bags, boxes — women anxiously calling to their children, 
and everybody crowding in a dense mass to the plank to- 
wards the landing. 

Miss Ophelia seated herself resolutely on the lately van- 
quished trunk, and marshalling all her goods and chattels 
in fine military order, seemed resolved to defend them to 
the last. 

Shall I take your trunk, ma^am?^^ Shall I take 
your baggage ?” Let me ^tend to your baggage. Mis- 
sis ^‘^Shan^t I carry out these yer. Missis rained 
down upon her unheeded. She sat with grim determina- 
tion, upright as a darning-needle stuck in a board, holding 
on her bundle of umbrella and parasols, and replying with 
a determination that was enough to strike dismay even into 
a hackman, wondering to Eva, in each interval, ^^what 
upon earth her papa could be thinking of ; he couldn^t 
have fallen over, now, — but something must have hap- 
pened ; ” — and just as she had begun to work herself into 
a real distress, he came up, with his usually careless motion, 
and giving Eva a quarter of the orange he was eating, said. 
Well, Cousin Vermont, I suppose you are all ready.'’^ 
Fve been ready, waiting, nearly an hour,'’"’ said Miss 
Ophelia ; I began to be really concerned about you.^^ 

ThaFs a clever fellow, now,"*^ said he. ‘^Well, the 
carriage is waiting, and the crowd are now off, so that one 
can walk out in a decent and Christian manner, and not 
be pushed and shoved. Here, he- added to a driver who 
stood behind him, ‘^‘^take these things. 

Ifil go and see to his putting them in,^^ said Miss 
Ophelia. 

^^0, pshaw, cousin, whaFs the use ? said St. Clare. 
AYell, at any rate. I’ll carry this, and this, and this,’’ 
said Miss Ophelia, singling out three boxes and a small 
carpet-bag. 

My dear Miss Vermont, positively, you mustn’t come 
the Green Mountains over us that way. You must adopt 
at least a piece of a southern principle, and not walk out 
under all that load. They’ll take you for a waiting-maid ; 


176 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


give them to this fellow ; he'll put them down as if they 
were eggs, now." 

Miss Ophelia looked despairingly, as her cousin took all 
her treasures from her, and rejoiced to find herself once 
more in the carriage with them, in a state of preserva- 
tion. 

Where's Tom ?" said Eva. 

0, he's on the outside. Pussy. I'm going to take Tom 
up to mother for a peace-oSering, to make up for that 
drunken fellow that upset the carriage." 

0, Tom will make a splendid driver, I know," said 
Eva; he'll never get drunk." 

The carriage stopped in front of an ancient mansion, 
built in that odd mixture of Spanish and French style, of 
which there are specimens in some parts of New Orleans. 
It was built in the Moorish fashion, — a square building 
enclosing a court-yard, into which the carriage drove 
through an arched gateway. The court, in the inside, 
had evidently been arranged to gratify a picturesque and 
voluptuous ideality. Wide galleries ran all around the 
four sides, whose Moorish arches, slender pillars, and 
arabesque ornaments, carried the mind back, as in a dream, 
to the reign of oriental romance in Spain. In the middle 
of the court, a fountain threw high its silvery water, fall- 
ing in a never-ceasing spray into a marble basin, fringed 
with a deep border of fragrant violets. The water in the 
fountain, pellucid as crystal, was alive with myriads of 
gold and silver fishes, twinkling and darting through it 
like so many living jewels. Around the fountain ran a 
walk, paved with a mosaic of pebbles, laid in various fan- 
ciful patterns ; and this, again, was surrounded by turf, 
smooth as green velvet, while a carriage-drive enclosed the 
whole. Two large orange-trees, now fragrant with blos- 
soms, threw a delicious shade ; and, ranged in a circle 
round upon the turf, were marble vases of arabesque sculp- 
ture, containing the choicest fiowering plants of the tropics. 
Huge pomegranate trees, with their glossy leaves and fiame- 
colored flowers, dark-leaved Arabian jessamines, with their 
silvery stars, geraniums, luxuriant roses bending beneath 
their heavy abundance of fiowers, golden jessamines, 
lemon-scented verbenum, all united their bloom and frag- 
rance, while here and there a mystic old aloe, with its 
strange, massive leaves, sat looking like some hoary old 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 177 

enchanter, sitting in weird grandeur among the more 
perishable bloom and fragrance around it. 

The galleries that surrounded the court were festooned 
with a curtain of some kind of Moorish stuff, and could be 
drawn down at pleasure, to exclude the beams of the sun. 
On the whole, the appearance of the place was luxurious 
and romantic. 

As the carriage drove in, Eva seemed like a bird ready 
to burst from a cage, with the wild eagerness of her 
delight. 

0, isnT it beautiful, lovely ! my OAvn dear, darling 
home ! she said to Miss Ophelia. IsnT it beautiful ? ” 

^Tis a pretty place, said Miss Ophelia, as she alighted ; 

though it looks rather old and heathenish tome."’"’ 

Tom got down from the carriage, and looked about with 
an air of calm, still enjoyment. The negro, it must be re- 
membered, is an exotic of the most gorgeous and superb 
countries of the world, and he has, deep in his heart, a 
passion for all that is splendid, rich, and fanciful ; a pas- 
sion which, rudely indulged by an untrained taste, draws 
on them the ridicule of the colder and more correct white 
race. 

St. Clare, who was in his heart a poetical voluptuary, 
smiled as Miss Ophelia made her remark on his premises, 
and, turning to Tom, who was standing looking round, 
his beaming black face perfectly radiant with admiration, 
he said, 

Tom, my boy, this seems to suit you." 

Yes, MasY, it looks about the right thing," said Tom. 

All this passed in a moment, while trunks were being 
hustled off, hackmen paid, and while a crowd, of all ages 
and sizes, — men women, and children, — came running 
through the galleries, both above and below, to see Mash 
come in. Foremost among them was a highly-dressed 
young mulatto man, evidently a very distingue personage, 
attired in the ultra extreme of the mode, and gracefully 
waving a scented cambric handkerchief in his hand* 

This personage had been exerting himself, with great 
alacrity, in driving all the flock of domestics to the other 
end of the verandah. 

Back ! all of you. I am ashamed of you," he said, in 
atone of authority. Would you intrude on Master’s 
domestic relations, in the flrst hour of his return ? " 

12 


178 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


All looked abashed at this elegant speech, delivered with 
quite an air, and stood huddled together at a respectable dis- 
tance, except two stout porters, who came up and began 
conveying away the baggage. 

Owing to Mr. Adolph's systematic arrangements, when 
St. Clare turned round from paying the hackman there 
was nobody in view but Mr. Adolph himself, conspicuous 
in satin vest, gold guard-chain, and white pants, and bow- 
ing with inexpressible grace and suavity. 

‘‘^Ah, Adolph, is it you said his master, offering his 
hand to him ; how are you boy while Adolph poured 
forth, with great fluency, an extemporary speech, which 
he had been preparing, with great care, for a fortnight 
before. 

^^Well, well," said St. Clare, passing on, with his usual 
air of negligent drollery, that's very well got up, Adolph. 
See that the baggage is well bestowed. I'll come to the 
people in a minute ; " and, so saying, he led Miss Ophelia 
to a large parlor that opened on to the verandah. 

While this had been passing, Eva had flown like a bird, 
through the porch and parlor, to a little boudoir opening 
likewise on the verandah. 

A tall, dark-eyed, sallow woman half rose from a couch 
on which she was reclining. 

Mamma ! " said Eva, in a sort of a rapture, throwing 
herself on her neck, and embracing her over and over 
again. 

That'll do, — take care, child, — don't, you make my 
head ache," said the mother, after she had languidly kissed 
her. 

St. Clare came in, embraced his wife in true, orthodox, 
husbandly fashion, and then presented to her his cousin. 
Marie lifted her large eyes on her cousin with an air of some 
curiosity, and received her with languid politeness. A 
crowd of servants now pressed to the entry door, and among 
them a middle-aged mulatto woman of very respectable 
appearance, stood foremost, in a tremor of expectation and 
joy, at the door. 

0, there's Mammy ! " said Eva, as she flew across the 
room ; and, throwing herself into her arms, she kissed her 
repeatedly. 

This woman did not tell her that she made her head 
ache, but, on the contrary, she hugged her, and laughed, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


179 


and cried, till her sanity was a thing to he doubted of ; and 
when released from her, Eva flew from one to another, shak- 
ing hands and kissing, in a way that Miss Ophelia after- 
tvards declared fairly turned her stomach. 

^MVell!^^ said Miss Ophelia, ^^you southern children 
can do something that I couldn^t.^^ 

""What, now, pray said St. Clare. 

"" Well, I want to be kind to everybody, and I wouldn^t 
have anything hurt ; but as to kissing ” 

"" Niggers, said St. Clare, "" that you^re not up to, — • 
hey ? ” 

"" Yes, that^s it. How can she ?” 

St. Clare laughed, as he went into the passage. "" Halloa, 
here, what^s to pay out here ? Here, you all — Mammy, 
Jimmy, Polly, Sukey — glad to see Mas^r he said, as he 
went shaking hands from one to another. "" Look out for 
the babies ! he added, as he stumbled over a sooty little 
urchin, who was crawling upon all fours. "" If I step upon 
anybody, let "’em mention it." 

There was an abundance of laughing and blessing MasY, 
as St. Clare distributed small pieces of change among them. 

"" Come, now, take yourselves off, like good boys and 
girls," he said ; and the whole assemblage, dark and light, 
disappeared through a door into a large verandah, followed 
by Eva, who carried a large satchel, which she had been 
filling with apples, nuts, candy, ribbons, laces, and toys of 
every description, during iier whole homeward journey. 

As St. Clare turned to go hack, his eye fell upon Tom, 
who was standing uneasily, shifting from one foot to the 
other, while Adolph stood negligently leaning against the 
banisters, examining Tom through an opera-glass, with an 
air that would have done credit to any dandy living. 

"" Puh ! you puppy," said his master, striking down the 
opera-glass ; ""is that the way you treat your company ? 
Seems to me, Holph," he added, laying his finger on the 
elegant figured satin vest that Adolph was sporting, "" seems 
to me thaPs my vest." 

"" 0 Master, this vest all stained with wine ! of course 
a gentleman in Master^s standing never wears a vest like 
this. I understood I was to take it. It does for a poor 
nigger-fellow, like me." 

And Adolph tossed his head, and passed his fingers 
through his scented hair, with a grace. 


180 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


So, that^s it, is it said St. Clare, carelessly. Well 
here, Fm going to show this Tom to his mistress, and then 
yon take him to the kitchen ; and mind yon don’t put on 
any of your airs to him. He’s worth two such puppies as 
you.” 

Master always will have his joke,” said Adolph, laugh- 
ing. ‘^I’m delighted to see Master in such spirits.” 

Here, Tom,” said St. Clare, beckoning. 

Tom entered the room. He looked wistfully on the velvet 
carpets, and the before unimagined splendors of mirrors, 
pictures, statues, and curtains, and, like the Queen of 
Sheba before Solomon, there was no more spirit in him. 
He looked afraid even to set his feet down. 

^^See here, Marie,” said St. Clare to his wife, ^^I’ve 
bought you a coachman, at last, to order. I tell you, he’s 
a regular hearse for blackness and sobriety, and will drive 
you like a funeral, if you want. Open your eyes, now, and 
look at him. How, don’t say I never think about you when 
I’m gone.” 

Marie opened her eyes, and fixed them on Tom, without 
rising. 

I know he’ll get drunk,” she said. 

Ho, he’s warranted a pious and sober article.” 

^^Well, I hope he may turn out well,” said the lady; 

it’s more than I expect, though.” 

^^Dolph,” said St. Clare, show Tom downstairs ; and, 
mind yourself,” he added ; remember what I told you.” 

Adolph tripped gracefully forward, and Tom, with lum- 
bering tread, went after. 

He’s a perfect behemoth ! ” said Marie. 

Come, now, Marie,” said St. Clare, seating himself on 
a stool beside her sofa, be gracious, and say something 
pretty to a fellow.” 

You’ve been gone a fortnight beyond the time,” said 
the lady, pouting. 

‘'‘^Well, you know I wrote you the reason.” 

Such a short, cold letter ! ” said the lady. 

Dear me ! the mail was just going, and it had to be 
that or nothing.” 

That’s just the way, always,” said the lady ; always 
something to make your journeys long, and letters 
short.” 

‘‘ See here, now,” he added, drawing an elegant velvet 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 181 

case out of his pocket, and opening it, here^s a present I 
got for you in New York/'’ 

It was a daguerreotype, clear and S5:)ft as an engraving, 
representing Eva and her father sitting hand in hand. 
Marie looked at it with a dissatisfied air. 

What made you sit in such an awkward position ? " sh^ 
said. 

‘^^Well, the position may he a matter of opinion; hut 
what do you think of the likeness ? ” 

If you don’t think anything of my opinion in one case, 
I suppose you wouldn’t in another,” said the lady, shutting 
the daguerreotype. 

Hang the woman ! ” said St. Clare, mentally; hut aloud 
he added, Come, now, Marie, what do you think of the 
likeness ? Don’t be nonsensical, now.” 

It’s very inconsiderate of you, St. Clare,” said the lady, 
to insist on my talking and looking at things. You know 
I’ve been lying all day with the sick-headache ; and there’s 
been such tumult made ever since you came, I’m half dead.” 

You’re subject to the sick-headache, ma’am ? ” said 
Miss Ophelia, suddenly rising from the depths of the large 
arm-chair, where she had sat quietly, taking an inventory 
of the furniture, and calculating its expense. 

Yes, — I’m a perfect martyr to it,” said the lady. 

Juniper-berry tea is good for sick-headache,” said Miss 
Ophelia ; at least, Auguste, Deacon Abraham Perry’s 
wife, used to say so ; and she was a great nurse.” 

^^ril have the first juniper-berries that get ripe in our 
garden by the lake brought in for that especial purpose,” 
said St. Clare, gravely pulling the bell as he did so ; mean- 
while, cousin, you must be wanting to retire to your apart- 
ment, and refresh yourself a little, after your journey. 
Dolph,” he added, tell Mammy to come here.” The de- 
cent mulatto woman whom Eva had caressed so rapturously 
soon entered ; she was dressed neatly, with a high red and 
yellow turban on her head, the recent gift of Eva, and 
which the child had been arranging on her head. 

Mammy,” said St. Clare, I put this lady under your 
care ; she is tired, and wants rest ; take her to her cham- 
ber, and be sure she is made comfortable;” and Miss 
Ophelia disappeared in the rear of Mammy. 


182 


UNCLE TOJ^rS CABIN; OR, 


CHAPTER XVL 

tom’s mistress and her opinions. 

And now, Marie,” said St. Clare, ^^yonr golden days 
are dawning. Here is our practical, business-like New 
England cousin, who will take the whole budget of cares 
off your shoulders, and give you time to refresh yourself, 
and grow young and handsome. The ceremony of deliver- 
ing the keys had better come off forthwith.” 

This remark was made at the breakfast-table, a few 
mornings after Miss Ophelia had arrived. 

I’m sure she’s welcome,” said Marie, leaning her head 
languidly on her hand. I think she’ll find one thing, if 
she does, and that is, that it’s we mistresses that are the 
slaves, down here.” 

0, certainly, she will discover that, and a world of 
wholesome truths besides, no doubt,” said St. Clare. 

Talk about our keeping slaves, as if we did it for our 
convenience” said Marie. I’m sure, if we consulted 
we might let them all go at once.” 

Evangeline fixed her large, serious eyes on her mother’s 
face, with an earnest and perplexed expression, and said, 
simply, What do you keep them for, mamma ? ” 

I don’t know, I’m sure, except for a plague ; they are 
the plague of my life. I believe that more of my ill heath 
is caused by them than by any one thing ; and ours, I 
know, are the very worst that ever anybody was plagued 
with.” 

0, come, Marie, you’ve got the blues this morning,” 
said St. Clare. You know ’tisn’t so. There’s Mam- 
my, the best creature living, — what could you do without 
her?” 

Mammy is the best I ever knew,” said Marie ; and 
yet Mammy, now, is selfish — dreadfully selfish ; it’s the 
fault of the whole race.” 

Selfishness is a dreadful fault,” said St. Clare, gravely. 

'^Well, now, there’s Mammy,” said Marie, "^I think 
it’s selfish of her to sleep so sound nights ; she knows I 
need little attentions almost every hour, when my worst 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


183 


turns are on, and yet she's so hard to wake. I absolutely 
am worse, this very morning, for the efforts I had to make 
to wake her last night." 

Hasn't she sat up with you a good many nights, lately, 
mamma ? " said Eva. 

^‘^How should you know that?" said Marie, sharply; 
she's been complaining, I suppose." 

She didn't complain ; she only told me what bad 
nights you'd had, — so many in succession." 

Why don't you let Jane or Eosa take her place, a night 
or two," said St. Clare, ^^and let her rest ?" 

^^How can you propose it?" said Marie. St. Clare, 
you really are inconsiderate. So nervous as I am, the 
least breath disturbs me ; and a strange hand about me 
would drive me absolutely frantic. If Mammy felt the in- 
terest in me she ought to, she'd wake easier, — of course, 
she would. I've heard of people who had such devoted ser- 
vants, but it never was my luck ; " and Marie sighed. 

Miss Ophelia had listened to this conversation with an 
air of shrewd, observant gravity ; and she still kept her 
lips tightly compressed, as if determined fully to ascertain 
her longitude and position, before she committed herself. 

How, Mammy has a sort of goodness," said Marie ; 
she's smooth and respectful, but she's selfish at heart. 
How, she never will be done fidgeting and worrying about 
that husband of hers. You see, when I was married and 
came to live here, of course, I had to bring her with me, 
and her husband my father couldn't spare. He was a 
blacksmith, and, of course, very necessary ; and I thought 
and said, at the time, that Mammy and he had better give 
each other up, as it wasn't likely to be convenient for 
them ever to live together again. I wish, now. I'd in- 
sisted on it, and married Mammy to somebody else ; but I 
was foolish and indulgent, and didn't want to insist. I 
told Mammy, at the time, that she mustn't ever expect to 
see him more than once or twice in her life again, for the 
air of father's place doesn't agree with my health, and I 
can't go there ; and I advised her to take up with some- 
body else ; but no — she wouldn't. Mammy has a kind of 
obstinacy about her, in spots, that everybody don't see as 
I do." 

Has she children ? " said Miss Ophelia. 

Yes ; she has two." 


184 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OR, 


I suppose she feels the separation from them ? 

^^Well, of course, I couldii^t bring them. They were 
little dirty things — I couldnT have them about ; and, he^ 
sides, they took up too much of her time ; but I believe 
that Mammy has always kept up a sort of sulkiness about 
this. She wonT marry anybody else ; and I do believe, 
now, though she knows how necessary she is to me, and 
how feeble my health is, she would go back to her husband 
to-morrow, if she only could. I do, indeed,^'’ said Marie; 
they are just so selfish, now, the best of them.” 

its distressing to refiect upon,” said St. Clare, dryly. 
Miss Ophelia looked keenly at him, and saw the flush of 
mortification and repressed vexation, and the sarcastic curl 
of the lip, as he spoke. 

^^Now, Mammy has always been a pet with me,” said 
Marie. I wish some of your northern servants could 
look at her closets of dresses, — silks and muslins, and one 
real linen cambric, she has hanging there. Fve worked 
sometimes whole afternoons, trimming her caps, and get- 
ting her ready to go to a party. As to abuse, she donT 
know what it is. She never was whipped more than once 
or twice in her whole life. She has her strong coffee or 
her tea every day, with white sugar in it. It^s abomi- 
nable, to be sure ; but St. Clare will have high life below- 
stairs, and they every one of them live just as they please. 
The fact is, our servants are over-indulged. I suppose it 
is partly our fault that they are selfish, and act like spoiled 
children ; but Fve talked to St. Clare till I am tired.” 

‘^‘^And I, too,” said St. Clare, taking up the morning 
paper. 

Eva, the beautiful Eva, had stood listening to her 
mother, with that expression of deep and mystic earnest- 
ness which was peculiar to her. She walked softly round 
to her mothers chair, and put her arms round her neck. 

Well, Eva, what now ?” said Marie. 

Mamma, couldnT I take care of you one night — just 
one ? I know I shouldnT make you nervous, and I 

shouldnT sleep. I often lie awake nights, thinking ” 

‘‘0, nonsense, child — nonsense!” said Marie; you 
are such a strange child I ” 

But may I, mamma ? I think,” she said, timidly, 
that Mammy isnT well. She told me her head ached all 
the time, lately.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


185 


0, that^s just one of Mammy^s fidgets ! Mammy is 
just like all the rest of them — makes such a fuss about 
every little headache or finger-ache ; itfil never do to en- 
courage it — never ! Fm principled about this matter/' 
said she, turning to Miss Ophelia ; you'll find the nece& 
sity of it. If you encoiirage servants in giving way to 
every little disagreeable feeling, and complaining of every 
little ailment, you'll have your hands full. I never com- 
plain myself — nobody knows what I endure. I feel it a 
duty to bear it quietly, and I do." 

Miss Ophelia's round eyes expressed an undisguised 
amazement at this peroration, which struck St. Clare as so 
supremely ludicrous, that he burst into a loud laugh. 

St. Clare always laughs when I make the least allusion 
to my ill health," said Marie, with the voice of a suffering 
martyr. I only hope the day won't come when he'll re- 
member it ! " and Marie put her handkerchief to her eyes. 

Of course, there was rather a foolish silence. Finally, 
St. Clare got up, looked at his watch, and said he had an 
engagement down street. Eva tripped away after him, 
and Miss Ophelia and Marie remained at the table alone. 

^^Now, that's just like St. Clare !" said the latter, with- 
drawing her handkerchief with somewhat of a spirited 
fiourish when the criminal to be affected by it was no 
longer in sight. ^^He never realizes, never can, never 
will, what I suffer, and have, for years. If I was one of 
the complaining sort, or ever made any fuss about my ail- 
ments, there would be some reason for it. Men do get 
tired, naturally, of a complaining wife. But I've kept 
things to myself, and borne, and borne, till St. Clare has 
got in the way of thinking I can bear anything." 

Miss Ophelia did not exactly know what she was expected 
to answer to this. 

While she was thinking what to say, Marie gradually 
wiped away her tears, and smoothed her plumage in a 
general sort of way, as a dove might be supposed to make 
toilet after a shower, and began a housewifely chat with 
Miss Ophelia, concerning cupboards, closets, linen-presses, 
store-rooms, and other matters, of which the latter was, 
by common understanding, to assume the direction, — giv- 
ing her so many cautious directions and charges, that a 
head less systematic and business-like than Miss Ophelia's 
would have been utterly dizzied and confounded. 


186 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


And now/^ said Marie, I believe IVe told you every 
think ; so that, when my next sick turn comes on, you’ll 
be able to go forward entirely, without consulting me ; — 
only about Eva, — she requires watching.” 

She seems to be a good child, very,” said Miss Ophelia ; 

I never saw a better child.” 

Eva’s peculiar,” said her mother, very. There are 
things about her so singular ; she isn’t like me, now, a 
particle ; ” and Marie sighed, as if this was a truly melan- 
choly consideration. 

Miss Ophelia in her own heart said, I hope she isn’t,” 
but had prudence enough to keep it down. 

Eva always was disposed to be with servants ; and 
I think that well enough with some children. Now, I 
always played with father’s little negroes — it never did me 
any harm. But Eva somehow always seems to put her- 
self on an equality with every creature that comes near 
her. It’s a strange thing about the child. I never have 
been able to break her of it. St. Clare, I believe, en- 
courages her in it. The fact is, St. Clare indulges every 
creature under this roof but his own wife.” 

Again Miss Ophelia sat in blank silence. 

^^Now, there’s no way with servants,” said Marie, ^‘^but 
to put them down, and keep them down. It was always 
natural to me, from a child. Eva is enough to spoil a 
whole houseful. What she will do when she comes to 
keep house herself, I’m sure I don’t know. I hold to be- 
ing hind to servants — I always am ; but you must make ’em 
hno w their place. Eva never does ; there’s no getting into 
the child’s head the first beginning of an idea what a ser- 
vant’s place is ! You heard her offering to take care of 
me nights, to let Mammy sleep ! That’s just a specimen 
of the way the child would be doing all the time, if she 
was left to herself.” 

Why,” said Miss Ophelia, bluntly, I suppose you 
think your servants are human creatures, and ought to 
have some rest when they are tired.” 

Certainly, of course. I’m very particular in letting 
them have everything that comes convenient, — anything 
that doesn’t put one at all out of the way, you know. 
Mammy can makeup her sleep, some time or other ; there’s 
no difficulty about that. She’s the sleepiest concern that 
ever I saw ; sewing, standing, or sitting, that creature wifi 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


187 


go to sleep, and sleep anywhere and everywhere. No 
danger but Mammy gets sleep enough. But this treating 
servants as if they were exotic flowers, or china vases, is 
really ridiculous,'’^ said Marie, as she plunged languidly 
into the depths of a voluminous and pillowy lounge, and 
drew towards her an elegant cut-glass vinaigrette. 

You see,'’^ she continued, in a faint and lady-like voice, 
like the last dying breath of an Arabian jessamine or some- 
thing equally ethereal, ^^you see. Cousin Ophelia, I don^t 
often speak of myself. It isn^t my Tiahit ; it isn^’t agreeable 
to me. In fact, I haven^t strength to do it. But there 
are points where St. Clare and I differ. St. Clare never 
understood me, never appreciated me. I think it lies at 
the root of all my ill health. St. Clare means well, I am 
bound to believe ; but men are constitutionally selflsh and 
inconsiderate to woman. That, at least, is my impression.” 

Miss Ophelia, who had not a small share of the genuine 
New England caution, and a very particular horror of be- 
ing drawn into family difficulties, now began to foresee 
something of this kind impending ; so, composing her face 
into a grim neutrality, and drawing out of her pocket 
about a yard and a quarter of stocking, which she kept as 
a speciflc against what Dr. Watts asserts to be a personal 
habit of Satan when people have idle hands, she proceeded 
to knit most energetically, shutting her lips together in a 
way that said, as plain as words could, You neednT try 
to make me speak. I don’t want anything to do with your 
affairs,” — in fact, she looked about as sympathizing as a 
stone lion. But Marie didn’t care for that. She had got 
somebody to talk to, and she felt it her duty to talk, and 
that was enough ; and reinforcing herself by smelling 
again at her vinaigrette, she went on. 

You see, I brought my own property and servants into 
the connection, when I married St. Clare, and I am legally 
entitled to manage them my own way. St. Clare had his 
fortune and his servants, and I’m well enough content he 
should manage them his way ; but St. Clare will be inter- 
fering. He has wild, extravagant notions about things, 
particularly about tlie treatment of servants. He really 
does act as if he set his servants before me, and before 
himself, too ; for he lets them make him all sorts of trouble, 
and never lifts a Anger. Now, about some things, St. 
Clare is really frightful — he frightens me — good-natured as 


188 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


he looks in general. 'Now, he has set down his foot that, 
come what will, there shall not be a blow struck in this 
house, except what he or I strike ; and he does it in a way 
that I really dare not cross him. Well, you may see what 
that leads to ; for St. Clare wouldn^t raise his hand, if every 
one of them walked over him, and I — ^you see how cruel 
it would be to require me to make the exertion. Now, 
you know these servants are nothing but grown-up chil- 
dren.'’^ 

I don^t know anything about it, and I thank the Lord 
that I don^t ! ” said Miss Ophelia, shortly. 

Well, but you will have to know something, and know 
it to your cost, if you stay here. You don’t know what 
a provoking, stupid, careless, unreasonable, childish, un- 
grateful set of wretches they are.” 

Marie seemed wonderfully supported, always, when she 
got upon this topic ; and she now opened her eyes, and 
seemed quite to forget her languor. 

^^You don’t know, and you can’t, the daily, hourly 
trials that beset a housekeeper, from them, everywhere and 
every way. But it’s no use to complain to St. Clare. He 
talks the strangest stuff. He says we have made them 
what they are, and ought to bear with them. He says 
their faults are all owing to us, and that it would be cruel 
to make the fault and punish it too. He says we shouldn’t 
do any better, in their place ; just as if one could reason 
from them to us, you know.” 

Don’t you believe that the Lord made them of one 
blood with us ? ” said Miss Ophelia, shortly. 

No, indeed, not I ! A pretty story, truly ! They are 
a degraded race.” 

Don’t you think they’ve got immortal souls ? ” said 
Miss Ophelia, with increasing indignation. 

0, well,” said Marie, yawning, that, of course — 
nobody doubts that. But as to putting them on any sort of 
equality with us, you know, as if we could be compared, 
why, it’s impossible ! Now, St. Clare really has talked to 
me as if keeping Mammy from her husband was like keeping 
me from mine. There’s no comparing in this way. Mam- 
my couldn’t have the feelings that I should. It’s a differ- 
ent thing altogether, — of course, it is, — and yet St. Clare 
pretends not to see it. And just as if Mammy could love 
her little dirty babies as I love Eva ! Yet St. Clare once 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


189 


really and soberly tried to persuade me that it was my duty, 
with my weak health, and all I suffer, to let Mammy back, 
and take somebody else in her place. That was a little too 
much even for me to bear. I don't often show my feelings. 
I make it a principle to endure everything in silence ; it's a 
wife's hard lot, and I bear it. But I did break out, that 
time ; so that he has never alluded to the subject since. 
But I know by his looks, and little things that he says, that 
he thinks so as much as ever ; and it's so trying, so provok- 
ing." 

Miss Ophelia looked very much as if she was afraid she 
should say something ; but she rattled away with her 
needles in a way that had volumes of meaning in it, if 
Marie could only have understood it. 

So, you just see," she continued, what you've got to 
manage. A household without any rule ; where servants 
have it all their own way, do what they please, and have 
what they please, except so far as I, with my feeble health, 
have kept up government. I keep my cowhide about, and 
sometimes I do lay it on ; but the exertion is always too 
much for me. If St. Clare would only have this thing 
done as others do " 

And how's that ? " 

Why send them to the calaboose, or some of the other 
places to be flogged. That's the only way. If I wasn't 
such a poor, feeble piece, I believe I should manage with 
twice the energy that St. Clare does." 

^^And how does St. Clare contrive to manage ?" said 
Miss Ophelia. You say he never strikes a blow." 

Well, men have a more commanding way, you know ; 
it is easier for them ; besides, if you ever looked full in his 
eye, it's peculiar, — that eye, — and if he speaks decidedly, 
there's a kind of flash. I'm afraid of it, myself ; and the 
servants know they must mind. I couldn't do as much by 
a regular storm and scolding as St. Clare can by one turn 
of his eye, if once he is in earnest. 0, there's no trouble 
about St. Clare ; that's the reason he's no more feeling for 
me. But you'll And, when you come to manage, that 
there's no getting along without severity, — they are so bad, 
so deceitful, so lazy." 

‘‘ The old tune," said St. Clare, sauntering in. What 
an awful account these wicked creatures will have to settle, 
at last, especially for being lazy ! You see cousin," said. 


190 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


he, as he stretched himself at full length on a lounge op' 
posite to Marie, it^s wholly inexcusable in them, in the 
light of the example that Marie and I set them, — this laz- 
iness.” 

Come, now, St. Clare, you are too bad ! ” said Marie. 

Am I, now ? Why, I thought I was talking good, 
quite remarkably for me. I try to enforce your remarks, 
Marie, always.” 

You know you meant no such thing, St. Clare,” said 
Marie. 

^^0, I must have been mistaken, then. Thank you, 
my dear, for setting me right.” 

You do really try to be provoking,” said Marie. 

0, come, Marie, the day is growing warm, and I have 
just had a long quarrel with Dolph, which has fatigued me 
excessively ; so, pray be agreeable, now, and let a fellow 
repose in the light of your smile.” 

What^s the matter about Dolph ? ” said Marie. That 
fellow^s impudence has been growing to a point that is per- 
fectly intolerable to me. I only wish I had the undisputed 
management of him a while. IM bring him down ! ” 

^^What you say, my dear, is marked with your usual 
acuteness and good sense,” said St. Clare. As to Dolph, 
the case is this : that he has so long been engaged in imi- 
tating my graces and perfections, that he has, at last, really 
mistaken himself for his master ; and I have been obliged 
to give him a little insight into his mistake.” 

How ? ” said Marie. 

Why, I was obliged to let him understand explicitly 
that I preferred to keep some of my clothes for my own 
personal wearing ; also, I put his magnificence upon an 
allowance of cologne-water, and actually was so cruel as to 
restrict him to one dozen of my cambric handkerchiefs. 
Dolph was particularly huffy about it, and I had to talk to 
him like a father, to bring him round.” 

^^0 St. Clare, when will you learn how to treat your 
servants ? It^s abominable, the way you indulge them ! ” 
said Marie. 

Why, after all, what’s the harm of the poor do^’s 
wanting to be like his master ; and if I haven’t brought him 
up any better than to find his chief good in cologne and 
cambric handkerchiefs, why shouldn’t I give them to 
him?” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 191 

And why haven^t you brought him up better ? said 
Miss Ophelia, with blunt determination. 

Too much trouble, — laziness, cousin, laziness, — which 
ruins more souls than you can shake a stick at. If it 
werenT for laziness, I should have been a perfect angel, 
myself. Fm inclined to think that laziness is what your 
old Dr. Botherem, up in V ermont, used to call the ^ es- 
sence of moral evil. ^ IFs an awful consideration, certainly. 

I think you slaveholders have an awful responsibility 
upon you,"’"’ said Miss Ophelia. I wouldnT have it, for 
a thousand worlds. You ought to educate your slaves, and 
treat them like reasonable creatures, — like immortal crea- 
tures, that youVe got to stand before the bar of God with. 
ThaFs my mind,^^ said the good lady, breaking suddenly 
out with a tide of zeal that had been gaining strength 
in her mind all the morning. 

0 ! come, come,"’"’ said St. Clare, getting up quickly ; 

What do you know about us ? ” And he sat down to 
the piano, and rattled a lively piece of music. St. Clare 
had a decided genius for music. His touch was brilliant 
and firm, and his fingers flew over the keys with a rapid 
and bird-like motion, airy, and yet decided. He played 
piece after piece, like a man who is trying to play himself 
into a good-humor. After pushing the music aside, he rose 
up, and said, gayly, ‘^‘^Well, now, cousin, youVe given us 
a good talk, and done your duty ; on the whole, I think 
the better of you for it. I make no manner of doubt that 
you threw a very diamond of truth at me, though you see 
it hit me so directly in the face that it wasnT exactly ap- 
preciated, at first.” 

For my part, I donT see any use in such sort of talk,” 
said Marie. Fm sure, if anybody does more for servants 
than we do, Fd like to know who ; and it donT do ^em a 
bit of good, — not a particle, — they get worse and worse. 
As to talking to them, or anything like that, Fm sure I 
have talked till I was tired and hoarse, telling them their 
duty, and all that ; and Fm sure they can go to church 
when they like, though they donT understand a word of 
the sermon, more than so many pigs, — so it isnT of any 
great use for them to go, as I see ; but they do go, and so 
they have every chance ; but, as I said before, they are a 
degraded race, and always will be, and there isnT any help 
for them ; you canT make anything of them, if you try. 


192 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


You see. Cousin Ophelia, IVe tried, and you haven^t ; I 
was born and bred among them, and I know/^ 

Miss Ophelia thought she had said enough, and there- 
fore sat silent. St. Ware whistled a tune. 

St. Clare, I wish you wouldn^t whistle, said Marie ; 
it makes my head worse.” 

I won^t,” said St. Clare. ‘^^Is there anything else you 
wouldn^t wish me to do ? ” 

I wish you would have some kind of sympathy for my 
trials ; you never have any feeling for me.” 

My dear accusing angel ! ” said St. Clare. 

It^s provoking to be talked to in that way.” 

Then, how will you be talked to ? IT talk to order, 
— ^ — only to give satisfaction.” 



court rang through the silken 


curtains of the verandah. St. Clare stepped out, and lift- 
ing up the curtain, laughed too. 

What is it ?” said Miss Ophelia, coming to the railing. 
There sat Tom, on a little mossy seat in the court, every 
one of his buttonholes stuck full of cape jessamines, and 
Eva, gayly laughing, was hanging a wreath of roses round 
his neck ; and then she sat down on his knee, like a chip- 
sparrow, still laughing. 

0, Tom, you look so funny ! ” 

Tom had a sober, benevolent smile, and seemed, in his 
quiet way, to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little 
mistress. He lifted his eyes, when he saw his master, with 
a half-deprecating, apologetic air. 

How can you let her ! ” said Miss Ophelia. 

Why not ? ” said St. Clare. 

Why, I don’t know, it seems so dreadful.” 

You would think no harm in a child’s caressing a large 
dog, even if he was black ; but a creature that can think, 
and reason, and feel, and is immortal you shudder at ; 
confess it, cousin. I know the feeling among some of you 
northerners well enough. Hot that there is a particle of 
virtue in our not having it ; but custom with us does what 
Christianity ought to do, — obliterates the feeling of per- 
sonal prejudice. I have often noticed, in my travels north, 
how much stronger this was with you than with us. You 
loathe them as you would a snake or a toad, yet you are 
indignant at their wrongs. You would not have them 
abused ; but you don’t want to have anything to do with 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


193 


them yourselves. You would send them to Africa, out of 
your sight and smell, and then send a missionary or two to 
do up all the self-denial of elevating them compendiouslv. 
Wtthat it 

Well, cousin, said Miss Ophelia, thoughtfully, there 
may be some truth in this.'’^ 

What would the poor and lowly do, without children 
said St. Clare, leaning on the railing and watching Eva, as 
she tripped off, leading Tom with her. Your little child 
is your only true democrat. Tom, now, is a hero to Eva ; 
his stories are wonders in her eyes, his songs and Methodist 
hymns are better than an opera, and the traps and little 
bits of trash in his pocket a mine of jewels, and he the most 
wonderful Tom that ever wore a black skin. This is one 
of the roses of Eden that the Lord has dropped down ex- 
pressly for the poor and lowly, who get few enough of any 
other kind.'’^ 

Iffs strange, cousin,” said Miss Ophelia ; one might 


almost think you were a 
A professor ?” said 


to hear you talk.^ 

)t. Clare. 

Yes ; a professor of religion.” 

N'ot at all ; not a professor, as your town-folks have it ; 
and, v^at is worse, Tm afraid, not Q,pracUser, either.” 

What makes you talk so, then ?” 

Nothing is easier than talking,” said St. Clare. I 
believe Shakespeare makes somebody say, ^ I could sooner 
show twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the 
twenty to follow my own showing.^ Nothing like division 
of labor. My forte lies in talking, and yours, cousin, lies 
in doing.” 


In Tom^s external situation, at this time there was, as 
the world says, nothing to complain of. Little Eva^s fancy 
for him — the instinctive gratitude and loveliness of a noble 
nature — had led her to petition her father that he might 
be her especial attendant, whenever she needed the escort 
of a servant, in her walks or rides ; and Tom had general 
orders to let everything else go, and attend to Miss Eva 
whenever she wanted him, — orders which our readers may 
fancy were far from disagreeable to him. He was kept 
well dressed, for St. Clare was fastidiously particular on 
this point. His stable services were merely a sinecure, 

13 


194 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


and consisted simply in a daily care and inspection, and 
directing an under-servant in his duties ; for Harm St. 
Clare declared that she could not have any smell of the 
horses about him when he came near her, and that he must 
positively not he put to any service that would make him 
unpleasant to her, as her nervous system was entirely 
inadequate to any trial of that nature ; one snuff of any- 
thing disagreeable being, according to her account, quite 
sufficient to close the scene, and put an end to all her 
earthly trials at once. Tom, therefore, in his well-brushed 
broadcloth suit, smooth beaver, glossy boots, faultless 
wristbands and collar, with his grave, good-natured black 
face, looked respectable enough to be a bishop of Carthage, 
as men of his color were, in other ages. 

Then, too, he was in a beautiful place, a consideration to 
which his sensitive race are never indifferent ; and he did 
enjoy, with a quiet joy the birds, the flowers, the fountains, 
the perfume, and light and beauty of the court, the silken 
hangings, and pictures, and lustres, and statuettes, and 
gilding, that made the parlors within a kind of Aladdin^s 
palace to him. 

If ever Africa shall show an elevated and cultivated race, 
— and come it must, some time, her turn to flgure in 
the great drama of human improvement, — life will awake 
there with a gorgeousness and splendor of which our cold 
western tribes faintly have conceived. In that far-off mys- 
tic land of gold, and gems, and spices, and waving palms, 
and wondrous flowers, and miraculous fertility, will awake 
new forms of art, new styles of splendor ; and the negro 
race, no longer despised and trodden down, will, perhaps, 
show forth some of the latest and most magniflcent revela- 
tions of human life. Certainly they will, in their gentle- 
ness, their lowly docility of heart, their aptitude to repose 
on a superior mind and rest on a higher power, their child- 
like simplicity of affection, and facility of forgiveness. . In 
all these they will exhibit the highest form of the pecul- 
liarly Christian life, and, perhaps, as Grod chasteneth whom 
he loveth, he hath chosen poor Africa in the furnace of 
affliction, to make her the highest and noblest in that 
kingdom which he will set up, when every other kingdom 
has been tried, and failed ; for the flrst shall be last, and 
the last flrst. 

Was this what Marie St. Clare was thinking of, as she 



Uncle T'orn'^s Cabin, 


Byron Photo, Courtesy of IV, A, Brady 

Uncle Tom. 


Page jg4. 



LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


195 


stood gorgeously dressed, on the verandah, on Sunday 
morning, clasping a diamond bracelet on her slender wrist ? 
Most likely it was. Or, if it wasn^’t that, it was something 
else ; for Marie patronized good things, and she was going 
now, in full force, — diamonds, silk, and lace, and jewels, 
and all, — to a fashionable church, to be very religious. 
Marie always made a point to be very pious on Sundays. 
There she stood, so slender, so elegant, so airy, and undu- 
lating in all her motions, her lace scarf enveloping her like 
a mist. She looked a graceful creature, and she felt very 
good and very elegant indeed. Miss Ophelia stood at her 
side, a perfect contrast. It was not that she had not as 
handsome a silk dress and shawl, and as fine a pocket- 
handkerchief ; but stiffness and squareness, and bolt-up- 
rightness, enveloped her with as indefinite yet appreciable 
a presence as did grace her elegant neighbor ; not the 
grace of God, however, — that is quite another thing ! 

Whereas Eva ? ” said Marie. 

The child stopped on the stairs, to say something to 
Mammy.” 

And what was Eva saying to Mammy on the stairs? Lis- 
ten, reader, and you will hear, though Marie does not. 

Dear Mammy, I know your head is aching dreadfully. ” 

Lord bless you. Miss Eva ! my head allers aches lately. 
You donT need to worry.” 

Well, I'm glad you're going out ; and here,” — and the 
little girl threw her arms around her — Mammy, you 
shall take my vinaigrette. ” 

What ! your beautiful gold thing, thar, with them 
diamonds ! Lor, Miss, 'twouldn't be proper, no ways.” 

Why not ? You need it, and I don't. Mamma always 
uses it for headache, and it'll make you feel better. No, 
you shall take it, to please me, now.” 

Do hear the darling talk ! "said Mammy, as Eva thrust 
it into her bosom, and, kissing her, ran downstairs to her 
mother. 

What were you stopping for ? ” 

I was just stopping to give Mammy my vinaigrette, to 
take to church with her.” 

Eva ! ” said Marie, stamping impatiently, — your gold 
vinaigrette to Mammy! When will you learn what's 
proper 9 Go right and take it back, this moment ! ” 

Eva looked downcast and aggrieved, and turned slowly. 


196 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


I say, Marie, let the child alone ; she shall do as she 
pleases,^^ said St. Clare. 

St. Clare, how will she ever get along in the world ? ” 
said Marie. 

The Lord knows, said St. Clare ; but she^ll get along 
in heaven better than you or I.” 

0 papa, donT,^"* said Eva, softly touching his elbow ; 

it troubles mother. 

^^Well, cousin, are you ready to goto meeting ? said 
Miss Ophelia, turning square about on St. Clare. 

^^Fm not going, thank you.” 

I do wish St. Clare ever would go to church,” said 
Marie ; but he hasn’t a particle of religion about him. 
It really isn’t respectable.” 

I know it,” said St. Clare. You ladies go to church 
to learn how to get along in the world, I suppose, and your 
piety sheds respectability on us. If I did go at all, I would 
go where Mammy goes ; "there’s something to keep a fellow 
awake there, at least.” 

What ! those shouting Methodists ? Horrible ! ” said 
Marie. 

Anything but the dead sea of your respectable 
churches, Marie. Positively, it’s too much to ask of a man. 
Eva, do you like to go ? Come, stay at home and play 
with me.” 

Thank you, papa ; but I’d rather go to church. ” 

Isn’t it dreadful tiresome ?” said St. Clare. 

I think it is tiresome, some,” said Eva ; and I am 
sleepy, too, but I try to keep awake.” 

What do you go for, then ? ” 

Why, you know, papa,” she said, in a whisper, cousin 
told me that God wants to have us ; and He gives us every- 
thing, you know ; and it isn’t much to do it, if He wants 
us to. It isn’t so very tiresome, after all.” 

You sweet, little obliging soul ! ” said St. Clare, kiss- 
ing her; ^^go along, that’s a good girl, and pray for 
me.” 

Certainly, I always do,” said the child, as she sprang 
after her mother into the carriage. 

St. Clare stood on the steps and kissed his hand to her, 
as the carriage drove away ; large tears were in his eyes. 

0 Evangeline ! rightly named,” he said ; hath not 
God made thee an evangel to me ? ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


197 


So he felt a moment ; and then he smoked a cigar, and 
read the Picayune, and forgot his little gospel. Was he 
much unlike other folks ? 

^‘^You see, Evangeline,^'’ said her mother, ^^iPs always 
right and proper to be kind to servants, hut it isn’t 
proper to treat them just as we would our relations, or 
people in our own class of life. Now, if Mammy was sick, 
you wouldn’t want to put her in your own bed.” 

I should feel just like it, mamma,” said Eva, because 
then it would be handier to take care of her, and because, 
you know, my bed is better than hers.” 

Marie was in utter despair at the entire want of moral 
perception evinced in this reply. 

What can I do to make this child understand me ?” 
she said. 

Nothing,” said Miss Ophelia, significantly. 

Eva looked sorry and disconcerted for a moment ; but 
children, luckily, do not keep to one impression long, and 
in a few moments she was merrily laughing at various 
things which she saw from the coach-windows, as it rattled 
along. 


Well, ladies,” said St. Clare, as they were comfortably 
seated at the dinner- table, and what was the bill of fare 
at church to-day ? ” 

0, Dr. Gr preached a splendid sermon,” said Marie. 

It was just such a sermon as you ought to hear ; it ex- 
pressed all my views exactly.” 

It must have been very improving,” said St. Clare. 
^^The subject must have been an extensive one.” 

‘^Well, I mean all my views about society, and such 
things,” said Marie. The text was, ^ He hath made every- 
thing beautiful in its season ; ’ and he showed how all the 
orders and distinctions in society came from Cod ; and that 
it was so appropriate, you know, and beautiful, that some 
should be high and some low, and that some were born to 
rule and some to serve, and all that, you know ; and he 
applied it so well to all this ridiculous fuss that is made 
about slavery, and he proved distinctly that the Bible was 
on our side, and supported all our institutions so convinc- 
ingly. I only wish you’d heard him.” 


198 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


0, I didn’t need it/’ said St. Clare. I can learn 
what does me as much good as that from the Picayune, any 
time, and smoke a cigar besides ; which I can’t do, you 
know, in a church.” 

Why,” said Miss Ophelia, don’t you believe in these 
views ? ” 

Who, — I ? You know I’m such a graceless dog that 
these religious aspects of such subjects don’t edify me 
much. If I was to say anything on this slavery matter, I 
would say out, fair and square, ^ We’re in for it ; we’ve got 
’em, and mean to keep ’em, — it’s for our convenience and 
our interest ; ’ for that’s the long and short of it, — that’s 
just the whole of what all this sanctified stuff amounts to, 
after all ; and I think that will be intelligible to everybody, 
everywhere.” 

I do think, Augustine, you are so irreverent ! ” said 
Marie. I think it’s shocking to hear you talk.” 

Shocking ! it’s the truth. This religious talk on such 
matters, — why don’t they carry it a little further, and show 
the beauty, in its season, of a fellow’s taking a glass too 
much, and sitting a little too late over his cards, and 
various providential arrangements of that sort, which are 
pretty frequent among us young men ; — we’d like to hear 
that those are right and godly, too.” 

Well,” said Miss Ophelia, do you think slavery right 
or wrong ? ” 

I’m not going to have any of your horrid New England 
directness, cousin,” said St. Clare, gayly. If I answer 
that question, I know you’ll be at me with half a dozen 
others, each one harder than the last ; and I’m not a-going 
to define my position. I am one of the sort that lives by 
throwing stones at other people’s glass houses, but I never 
mean to put up one for them to stone.” 

That’s just the way he’s always talking,” said Marie ; 
you can’t get any satisfaction out of him. I believe it’s 
just because he don’t like religion, that he’s always running 
out in this way he’s been doing.” 

Eeligion ! ” said St. Clare, in a tone that made both 
ladies look at him. Religion ! Is what you hear at 
church religion ? Is that which can bend and turn, and 
descend and ascend, to fit every crooked phase of selfish, 
worldly society, religion ? Is that religion which is less 
scrupulous, less generous, less just, less considerate for 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


199 


man, than even my own ungodly, worldly, blinded nature ? 
No ! When I look for a religion, I must look for some- 
thing above me, and not something beneath.” 

Then you donT believe that the Bible justifies slavery,” 
said Miss Ophelia. 

^^The Bible was my mother^ 8 book,” said St. Clare. 

By it she lived and died, and I would be very sorry to 
think it did. Fd as soon desire to have it proved that my 
mother could drink brandy, chew tobacco, and swear, by 
way of satisfying me that I did right in doing the same. It 
wouldnT make me at all more satisfied with these things 
in myself, and it would take from me the comfort of 
respecting her ; and it really is a comfort, in this world, to 
have anything one can respect. In short, you see,” said 
he, suddenly resuming his gay tone, all I want is that 
different things be kept in different boxes. The whole 
frame-work of society, both in Europe and America, is 
made up of various things which will not stand the scrutiny 
of any very ideal standard of morality. IFs pretty gener- 
ally understood that men donT aspire after the absolute 
right, but only to do about as well as the rest of the world. 
Now, when any one speaks up, like a man, and says slavery 
is necessary to us, we canT get along without it, we should 
be beggared if we give it up, and, of course, we mean to 
hold on to it, — this is strong, clear, well-defined language ; 
it has the respectability of truth to it ; and if we may 
judge by their practice, the majority of the world will bear 
us out in it. But when he begins to put on a long face, 
and snuffle, and quote Scripture, I incline to think he isnT 
much better than he should be.” 

You are very uncharitable,” said Marie. 

Well,” said St. Clare, suppose that something should 
bring down the price of cotton once and forever, and make 
the whole slave property a drug in the market, donT you 
think we should soon have another version of the Script- 
ure doctrine ? What a fiood of light would pour into the 
church, all at once, and how immediately it would be dis- 
covered that everything in the Bible and reason went the 
other way ! ” 

Well, at any rate,” said Marie, as she reclined herself 
on a lounge, I^’m thankful I^m born where slavery exists ; 
and I believe it’s right — indeed I feel it must be ; and, at 
anv rate, I’m sure I couldn’t get along without it.” 


200 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


‘‘ 1 say, what do you think. Pussy ? said her father to 
Eva, who came in at this moment, with a flower in her 
hand. 

What about, papa ? ” 

Why, which do you like the best, — to live as they do 
at your uncle^s, up in Vermont, or to have a house full of 
servants, as we do ? " 

^^0, of course, our w^ is the pleasantest,'’^ said Eva. 

Why so said St. (flare, stroking her head. 

Why, it makes so many more round you to love, you 
know,” said Eva, looking up earnestly. 

^^Now, thaPs just like Eva,” said Marie ; just one of 
her odd speeches.” 

' Is it an odd speech, papa ?” said Eva, whisperingly, as 
she got upon his knee. 

Rather, as this world goes. Pussy,” said St. Clare. 

But where has my little Eva been, all dinner-time ? ” 

0, Pve been up in Tomb’s room, hearing him sing, and 
Aunt Dinah gave me my dinner.” 

Hearing Tom sing, hey ? ” 

0, yes ! he sings such beautiful things about the New 
Jerusalem, and bright angels, and the land of Canaan.” 

I dare say ; iPs better than the opera, isnT it ?” 

Yes, and he’s going to teach them to me.” 

Singing lessons, hey ? — you a7'e coming on.” 

Yes, he sings for me, and I read to him in my Bible ; 
and he explains what it means, you know.” 

On my word,” said Marie, laughing, that is the latest 
joke of the season. ” 

Tom isn’t a bad hand, now, at explaining Scripture, 
ril dare swear,” said St. Clare. ^‘^Tom has a natural 
genius for religion. I wanted the horses out early, this 
morning, and I stole up to Tom’s cubiculum there, over 
the stables, and there I heard him holding a meeting by 
himself ; and, in fact, I haven’t heard anything quite so 
savory as Tom’s prayer this some time. He put in for me, 
with a zeal that was quite apostolic.” 

Perhaps he guessed you were listening. I’ve heard of 
that trick before.” 

If he did ’ ’’tic; for he gave the Lord 



his opinion 


Tom seemed to think 


there was decidedly room for improvement in me, and 
seemed very earnest that I should he converted.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


I hope you^ll lay it to heart/^ said Miss Ophelia, 
suppose you are much of the same opinion,” said 
St. Clare. Well, we shall see, — shan^t we, Eva?” 


CHAPTER XVIL 

THE EEEEMAH^S DEFENCE. 

There was a gentle bustle at the Quaker house, as the 
afternoon drew to a close. Rachel Halliday moved quietly 
to and fro, collecting from her household stores such need- 
ments as could be arranged in the smallest compass, for 
the wanderers who were to go forth that night. The after- 
noon shadows stretched eastward, and the round red sun 
stood thoughtfully on the horizon, and his beams shone 
yellow and calm into the little bedroom where G-eorge and 
his wife were sitting. He was sitting with his child on 
his knee, and his wife^’s hand in his. Both looked thought- 
ful and serious, and traces of tears were on their cheeks. 

Yes, Eliza,” said George, I know all you say is true. 
You are a good child, — a great deal better than I am ; and 
I will try to do as you say. 1^11 try to act worthy of a free 
man. P’11 try to feel like a Christian. God Almighty 
knows that Fve meant to do well, — tried hard to do well, 
— when everything has been against me ; and now Pll for- 
get all the past, and put away every hard and bitter feel- 
ing, and read my Bible, and learn to be a good man.” 

And when we get to Canada,” said Eliza, I can help 
you. I can do dressmaking very well ; and I understand 
fine washing and ironing ; and between us we can find 
something to live on.” 

Yes, Eliza, so long as we have each other and our boy. 
0 Eliza ! if these people only knew what a blessing it is 
for a man to feel that his wife and child belong to him ! 
Eve often wondered to see men that could call their wives 
and children their own fretting and worrying about any- 
thing else. Why, I feel rich and strong, though we have 
nothing but our bare hands. I feel as if I could scarcely 
ask God for any more. Yes, though Eve worked hard 
every day, till I am twenty-five years old, and have not a 
cent of money, nor a roof to cover me, nor a spot of land 


202 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


to call my own, yet, i:" they will only let me alone now, I 
will be satisfied — thankful ; I will work, and send back the 
money for you and my boy. As to my old master, he has 
been paid five times over for all he ever spent for me. I 
don^t owe him anything. 

But yet we are not quite out of danger, said Eliza ; 
we are not yet in Canada. 

True,^^ said George, but it seems as if I smelt the 
free air, and it makes me strong. 

At this moment, voices were heard in the outer apart- 
ment, in earnest conversation, and very soon a rap was 
heard on the door. Eliza started and opened it. 

Simeon Halliday was there, and with him a Quaker 
brother, whom he introduced as Phineas Fletcher. Phineas 
was tall and lathy, red-haired, with an expression of great 
acuteness and shrewdness in his face. He had not the 
placid, quiet, unworldly air of Simeon Halliday ; on the 
contrary, a particularly wide-awake and au fait appearance, 
like a man who rather prides himself on knowing what he 
is about, and keeping a bright lookout ahead ; peculiarities 
which sorted rather oddly with his broad brim and formal 
phraseology. 

Our friend Phineas hath discovered something of im- 
portance to the interests of thee and thy party, George, 
said Simeon ; it were well for thee to hear it.'’^ 

“^That I have,^^ said Phineas, ^^and it shows the use of 
man^s always sleeping with one ear open, in certain places, 
as IVe always said. Last night I stopped at a little lone 
tavern, back on the road. Thee remembers the place, 
Simeon, where we sold some apples, last year, to that fat 
woman, with the great ear-rings. Well, I was tired with 
hard driving ; and, after my supper, I stretched myself 
down on a pile of bags in the corner, and pulled a buffalo 
over me, to wait till my bed was ready ; and what does I 
do, but get fast asleep.” 

With one ear open, Phineas ? ” said Simeon, quietly. 

No ; I slept, ears and all, for an hour or two, for I was 
pretty well tired ; but when I came to myself a little, I 
found that there were some men in the room, sitting round 
a table, drinking and talking ; and I thought, before I 
made much muster, Pd just see what they were up to, 
especially as I heard them say something about the Quakers. 
* So,^ says one, they are up in the Quaker settlement, no 



LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


203 


doubt/ says he. Then I listened with both ears, and I 
found that they were talking about this very party. So I 
lay and heard them lay off all their plans. This young 
man, they said, was to be sent back to Kentucky, to his 
master, who was going to make an example of him, to keep 
all niggers from running away ; and his wife two of them 
were going to run down to New Orleans to sell, on their 
own account, and they calculated to get sixteen or eighteen 
hundred dollars for her ; and the child, they said, was going 
to a trader, who had bought him ; and then there was the 
boy, Jim, and his mother, they were to go back to their 
masters in Kentucky. They said that there were two con- 
stables, in a town a little piece ahead, who would go in with 
^em to get ^em taken up, and the young woman was to be 
taken before a judge ; and one of the fellows, who is small 
and smooth-spoken, w^as to swear to her for his property, 
and get her delivered over to him to take south. TheyVe 
got a right notion of the track we are going to-night ; and 
they^’ll be down after us, six or eight strong. So, now, 
what^s to be done ? 

The group that stood in various attitudes, after this com- 
munication, were worthy of a painter. Kachel Halliday, 
who had taken her hands out of a batch of biscuit, to hear 
the news, stood with them upraised and floury, and with a 
face of the deepest concern. Simeon looked profoundly 
thoughtful ; Eliza had thrown her arms around her husband, 
and was looking up to him. George stood with clenched 
hands and glowing eyes, and looking as any other man 
might look, whose wife was to be sold at auction, and son 
sent to a trader, all under the shelter of a Christian nation's 
laws. 

What shall we do, George said Eliza, faintly. 

I know what I shall do," said George, as he stepped 
into the little room, and began examining his pistols. 

^'Ay, ay," said Phineas, nodding his head to Simeon; 
^"thou seest, Simeon, how it will work." 

. "'I see," said Simeon, sighing; I pray it come not to 
that." 

I don't want to involve any one with or for me, said 
George. If you will lend me your vehicle and direct me, 
I will drive alone to the next stand. Jim is a giant in 
strength, and brave as death and despair, and so am I." 

Ah, well, friend," said Phineas, but thee'll need a 


204 


UNCLE TOMB'S CABIN; OR, 


driver, for all that. Thee^s quite welcome to do all the 
fighting thee knows ; but I know a thing or two about the 
road, that thee doesn^’t.^^ 

But I don^t want to involve you/^ said George. 

Involve,” said Phineas, with a curious and keen ex- 
pression of face. When thee does involve me, please to 
let me know.” 

'^Phineas is a wise and skilful man,” said Simeon. 

Thee does well, George, to abide by his judgment ; and,” 
he added, laying his hand kindly on George^s shoulder, 
and pointing to the pistols, be not over hasty with these, 
— ^young blood is hot.” 

I will attack no man,” said George. All I ask of this 
country is to be let alone, and I will go out peaceably ; 
but,” — he paused, and his brow darkened and his face 
worked, — IVe had a sister sold in that New Orleans mar- 
ket. I know what they are sold for ; and am I going to 
stand by and see them take my wife and sell her, when God 
has given me a pair of strong arms to defend her ? No ; 
God help me ! Pll fight to the last breath, before they 
shall take my wife and son. Can you blame me ? ” 

^‘'Mortal man cannot blame thee, George. Flesh and 
blood could not do otherwise,” said Simeon. Woe unto 
the world because of offences, hut woe unto them through 
whom the offence cometh.” 

Would not even you, sir, do the same, in my place ?” 

I pray that I be not tried,” said Simeon ; the flesh is 
weak.” 

“ I think my flesh would he pretty tolerable strong, in 
such a case,” said Phineas, stretching out a pair of arms 
like the sails of a windmill. I ainT sure, friend George, 
that I shouldnT hold a fellow for thee, if thee had any 
accounts to settle with him.” 

If man should ever resist evil,” said Simeon, then 
George should feel free to do it now : hut the leaders of our 
people taught a more excellent way ; for the wrath of man 
worketh not the righteousness of God ; but it goes sorely 
against the corrupt will of man, and none oan receive it 
save they to whom it is given. Let us pray the Lord that 
we be not tempted.” 

And so / do,” said Phineas ; but if we are tempted 
too much — why, let them look out, thaPs all.” 

IPs quite plain thee wasnT born a friend,” said Simeon, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


205 


smiling. ^^The old nature hath its way in thee pretty 
strong as yet.” 

To tell the truth, Phineas had been a hearty, two-fisted 
backwoodsman, a vigorous hunter, and a dead shot at a 
buck ; but having wooed a pretty Quakeress, had been 
moved by the power of her charms to join the society in his 
neighborhood ; and though he was an honest, sober, and 
efficient member, and nothing particular could be alleged 
against him, yet the more spiritual among them could not 
but discern an exceeding lack of savor in his developments. 

Friend Phineas will ever have ways of his own,” said 
Eachel Halliday, smiling ; but we all think that his heart 
is in the right place, after all.” 

Well,” said George, ^^isnT it best that we hasten our 
flight ?” 

I got up at four o’clock, and came on with all speed, 
full two or three hours ahead of them, if they start at the 
time they planned. It isnT safe to start till dark, at any 
rate ; for there are some evil persons in the villages ahead, 
that might be disposed to meddle with us, if they saw our 
wagon, and that would delay us more than the waiting ; 
but in two hours I think we may venture. I will go over to 
Michael Cross, and engage him to come behind on his 
swift nag, and keep a bright lookout on the road, and 
warn us if any company of men come on. Michael keeps 
a horse that can soon get ahead of most other horses ; and 
he could shoot ahead and let us know, if there were any 
danger. I am going out now to warn Jim and the old 
woman to be in readiness, and to see about the horse. We 
have a pretty fair start, and stand a good chance to get to 
the stand before they can come up with us. So, have good 
courage, friend George ; this isnT the first ugly scrape that 
IVe been in with thy people,” said Phineas, as he closed 
the door. 

Phineas is pretty shrewd,” said Simeon. He will do 
the best that can be done for thee, George.” 

All I am sorry for,” said George, is the risk to 
you.” 

Theefil much oblige us, friend George, to say no more 
about that. What we do we are conscience bound to do ; 
we can do no other way. And now, mother,” said he, 
turning to Kachel, hurry thy preparations for these 
friends, for we must not send them away fasting.” 


206 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


And while Eachel and the children were busy making 
corn-cake, and cooking ham and chicken, and hurrying on 
the et ceteras of the evening meal, George and his wife sat 
in. their little room, with their arms folded about each 
other, in such talk as husband and wife have when they 
know that a few hours may part them forever. 

^^Eliza,"’"’ said George, people that have friends, and 
houses, and lands, and money, and all those things, canH 
love as we do, who have nothing but each other. Till I 
knew you, Eliza, no creature ever had loved me, but my 
poor, heartbroken mother and sister. I saw poor Emily 
that morning the trader carried her off. She came to the 
corner where I was lying asleep, and said, ^ Poor George, 
your last friend is going. What will become of you, poor 
boy ? ^ And I got up and threw my arms round her, and 
cried and sobbed, and she cried too ; and those were the 
last kind words I got for ten long years ; and my heart all 
withered up, and felt as dry as ashes, till I met you. And 
your loving me, — why, it was almost like raising one from 
the dead ! IVe been a new man ever since ! And now, 
Eliza, ril give my last drop of blood, but they shall not 
take you from me. Whoever gets you' must walk over my 
dead body.'’^ 

0 Lord, have mercy ! said Eliza, sobbing. If he 
will only let us get out of this country together, that is all 
we ask.^^ 

Is God on their side ? said George, speaking less 
to his wife than pouring out his own bitter thoughts. 

Does He see all they do ! Why does He let such things 
happen ? And they tell us that the Bible is on their side ; 
certainly all the power is. They are rich, and healthy, and 
happy ; they are members of churches, expecting to go to 
heaven ; and they get along so easy in the world, and have 
it all their own way ; and poor, honest, faithful Chris- 
tians, — Christians as good or better than they, — are lying 
in the very dust under their feet. They buy ^em, and 
sell "’em, and make trade of their heart's blood, and groans 
and tears, — and God lets them." 

Friend George," said Simeon, from the kitchen, ^ lis- 
ten to this Psalm ; it may do thee good." 

George drew his seat near the door, and Eliza, wiping 
her tears, came forward also to listen, while Simeon read 
as follows : 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


207 


** But as for me, my feet were almost gone ; my steps 
had well-nigh slipped. For I was envious of the foolish, 
when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. They are not 
in trouble like other men, neither are they plagued like 
other men. Therefore pride eompasseth them as a chain ; 
violence covereth them as a garment. Their eyes stand 
out with fatness ; they have more than heart could wish. 
They are corrupt, and speak wickedly concerning oppres- 
sion ; they speak loftily. Therefore his people return, 
and the waters of a full cup are wrung out to them, and 
they say. How doth God know ? and is there knowledge in 
the Most High 

“ Is not that the way thee feels, George ? 

^^Itis so, indeed," said George, — ^^as well as I could 
have written it myself." 

Then, hear," said Simeon ; When I thought to know 
this, it was too painful for me until I went unto the sanct- 
uary of God. Then understood I their end. Surely thou 
didst set them in slippery places, thou castedst them down 
to destruction. As a dream when one awaketh, so, oh 
Lord, when thou awakest, thou shalt despise their image, 
nevertheless, I am continually with thee ; thou hast holden 
me by my right hand. Thou shalt guide me by thy coun- 
sel, and afterwards receive me to glory. It is good for me 
to draw near unto God. I have put my trust in the Lord 
God." 

The words of holy trust, breathed by the friendly old 
man, stole like sacred music over the harassed and chafed 
spirit of George ; and after he ceased, he sat with a gentle 
and subdued expression on his fine features. 

""If this world were all, George," said Simeon, ""thee 
might, indeed, ask, where is the Lord ? But it is often 
those who have least of all in this life whom He chooseth 
for the kingdom. Put thy trust in Him, and, no matter 
what befalls thee here. He will make all right here- 
after." 

If these words had been spoken by some easy, self- 
indulgent exhorter, from whose mouth they might have 
come merely as pious and rhetorical flourish, proper to be 
used to people in distress, perhaps they might not have 
had much effect ; but coming from one who daily and 
calmly risked fine and imprisonment for the cause of God 
and man, they had a weight that could not but be felt. 


208 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


and both the poor, desolate fugitives found calmness and 
strength breathing into them from it. 

And now Rachel took Eliza^s hand kindly, and led the 
way to the supper- table. As they were sitting down, a 
light tap sounded at the door, and Ruth entered. 

I just ran in, she said, ^^with these little stockings 
for the boy, — three pair, nice, warm woollen ones. It will 
be so cold, thee knows, in Canada. Does thee keep up 
good courage, Eliza ? she added, tripping round to Eliza^s 
side of the table, and shaking her warmly by the hand, 
and slipping a seed-cake into Harry ^s hand. I brought 
a little parcel of these for him,^^ she said, tugging at her 
pocket to get out the package. Children, thee knows, 
will always be eating. 

0, thank you ; you are too kind,^^ said Eliza. 

Come, Ruth, sit down to supper, said Rachel, 
couldn^t, any way. I left John with the baby, and 
some biscuits in the oven : and I can^t stay a moment, else 
John will burn up all the biscuits, and give the baby all 
the sugar in the bowl. ThaCs the way he does,” said the 
little Quakeress, laughing. So, good-bye, Eliza ; good- 
bye, George ; the Lord grant thee a safe journey ; ” and, 
with a few tripping steps, Ruth was out of the apart- 
ment. 

A little while after supper, a large covered wagon drew 
up before the door ; the night was clear starlight ; and 
Phineas jumped briskly down from his seat to arrange his 
passengers. George walked out of the door, with his child 
on one arm and his wife on the other. His step was firm, 
his face settled and resolute. Rachel and Simeon came 
out after them. 

You get out, a moment,” said Phineas to those inside, 
^^and let me fix the back of the wagon, there, for the 
women-folks and the boy.” 

Here are the two buffaloes,” said Rachel. Make the 
seats as comfortable as may be ; it’s hard riding all 
night.” 

Jim came out first, and carefully assisted out his old 
mother, who clung to his arm, and looked anxiously about, 
as if she expected the pursuer every moment. 

Jim, are your pistols all in order ? ” said George, in a 
low, firm voice. 

Yes, indeed,” said Jim. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


209 


And you^ve no doubt what you shall do, if they 
come ? ” 

I rather think I haven%” said Jim, throwing open his 
broad chest, and taking a deep breath. Do you think 
ril let them get mother again ? 

During this brief colloquy, Eliza had been taking her 
leave of her kind friend, Rachel, and was handed into the 
carriage by Simeon, and, creeping into the back part with 
her boy, sat down among the buffalo-skins. The old 
woman was next handed in and seated, and George and 
Jim placed on a rough board seat front of them, and 
Phineas mounted in front. 

Farewell, my friends, said Simeon, from without. 

God bless you ! answered all from within. 

And the wagon drove off, rattling and jolting over the 
frozen road. 

There was no opportunity for conversation, on account 
of the roughness of the way and the noise of the wheels. 
The vehicle, therefore, rumbled on, through long, dark 
stretches of woodland, — over wide, dreary plains, — uphills, 
and down valleys, — and on, on, on they jogged, hour after 
hour. The child soon fell asleep, and lay heavily in his 
mother^s lap. The poor, frightened old woman at last for- 
got her fears ; and, even Eliza, as the night waned, found 
all her anxieties insufficient to keep her eyes from closing. 
Phineas seemed, on the whole, the briskest of the company, 
and beguiled his long drive with whistling certain very un- 
quaker-like songs, as he went on. 

But about three o^clock George’s ear caught the hasty 
and decided click of a horse’s hoof coming behind them at 
some distance, and jogged Phineas by the elbow. Phineas 
pulled up his horses, and listened. 

That must be Michael,” he said ; I think I know the 
sound of his gallop ; ” and he rose up and stretched his 
head anxiously back over the road. 

A man riding in hot haste was now dimly descried at the 
top of a distant hill. 

There he is, I do believe ! ” said Phineas. George and 
Jim both sprang out of the wagon, before they knew what 
they were doing. All stood intensely silent, with their 
faces turned towards the expected messenger. On he came. 
[N'ow he went down into a valley, where they could not 
see him ; but they heard the sharp, hasty tramp, rising 

14 


210 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 

nearer and nearer ; at last they saw him emerge on the top 
of an eminence, within hail. 

^^Yes, that’s Michael !” said Phineas ; and, raising hia 
voice, Halloa, there, Michael ! ” 

Phineas ! is that thee ? ” 

Yes ; what news — they coming ?” 

Eight on behind, eight or ten of them, hot with 
brandy, swearing and foaming like so many wolves.” 

And, just as he spoke, a breeze brought the faint sound 
of galloping horsemen towards them. 

^^In with you, — quick, boys, in!^’ said Phineas. ^^If 
you must fight, wait till 1 get you a piece ahead.” And, 
with the words, both jumped in, and Phineas lashed the 
horses to a run, the horseman keeping close beside them, 
the wagon rattled, jumped, almost fiew, over the frozen 
ground ; but plainer, and still plainer, came the noise of 
pursuing horsemen behind. The women heard it, and, 
looking anxiously out, saw, far in the rear, on the brow of 
a distant hill, a party of men looming up against the red* 
streaked sky of early dawn. Another hill, and their pur- 
suers had evidently caught sight of their wagon, whose 
white cloth-covered top made it conspicuous at some dis- 
tance, and a loud yell of brutal triumph came forward on 
the wind. Eliza sickened, and strained her child closer 
to her bosom ; the old woman prayed and groaned, and 
George and Jim clenched their pistols with the grasp of 
despair. The pursuers gained on them fast ; the carriage 
made a sudden turn, and brought them near a ledge of a 
steep overhanging rock, that rose in an isolated ridge or 
clump in a large lot, which was, all around it, quite clear 
and smooth. This isolated pile, or range of rocks, rose up 
black and heavy against the brightening sky, and seemed 
to promise shelter and concealment. It was a place well 
known to Phineas, who had been familiar with the spot in 
his hunting days ; and it was to gain this point he had 
been racing his horses. 

Now for it ! ” said he, suddenly checking his horses, 
and springing from his seat to the ground. Out with 
you, in a twinkling, every one, and up into these rocks 
with me. Michael, thee tie thy horse to the wagon, and 
drive ahead to Amariah’s, and get him and his boys ta 
come back and talk to these fellows.” 

In a twinkling they were all out of the carriage. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 211 

There,” said Phineas, catching up Harry, you, each 
of you, see to the women ; and run, now, if you ever did 
run ! ” 

There needed no exhortation. Quicker than we can say 
it, the whole party were over the fence, making with all 
speed for the rocks, while Michael, throwing himself from 
his horse, and fastening the bridle to the wagon, began 
driving it rapidly away. 

Come ahead,” said Phineas, as they reached the rocks, 
and saw, in the mingled starlight and dawn, the traces of 
a rude but plainly marked footpath leading up among 
them ; this is one of our old hunting-dens. Come 
up ! ” 

Phineas went before, springing up the rocks like a goat, 
with the boy in his arms. Jim came second, bearing his 
trembling old mother over his shoulder, and George and 
Eliza brought up the rear. The party of horsemen came 
up to the fence, and, with mingled shouts and oaths, were 
dismounting, to prepare to follow them. A few moments^ 
scrambling brought them to the top of the ledge ; the path 
then passed between a narrow defile, where only one could 
walk at a time, till suddenly they came to a rift or chasm 
more than a yard in breadth, and beyond which lay a pile 
of rocks, separate from the rest of the ledge, standing full 
thirty feet high, with its sides steep and perpendicular as 
those of a castle. Phineas easily leaped the chasm, and 
set down the boy on a smooth, flat platform of crisp white 
moss, that covered the top of the rock. 

Over with you ! ” he called ; spring, now, once, for 
your lives ! ” said he, as one after another sprang across. 
Several fragments of loose stone formed a kind of breast- 
work, which sheltered their position from the observation 
of those below. 

Well, here we all are,” said Phineas, peeping over the 
stone breastwork to watch the assailants, who were com- 
ing tumultuously up under the rocks. Let ^em get us, 
if they can. Whoever comes here has to walk single file 
between those two rocks, in fair range of your pistols, 
boys, d^ye see ? ” 

I do see,” said George; ^^and now, as this matter is 
ours, let us take all the risk, and do all the fighting.” 

^^Thee^s quite welcome to do the fighting, George,” 
said Phineas, chewing some checkerberry-leaves as he 


212 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


spoke ; ^^but I may have the fun of looking on, I suppose. 
But see, these fellows are kinder debating down there, and 
looking up, like hens when they are going to fly up on to 
the roost. Hadn^t thee better give "’em a word of advice, 
before they come up, just to tell "’em handsomely they ^11 
be shot if they do ? 

The party beneath, now more apparent in the light of 
the dawn, consisted of our old acquaintances, Tom Lokei 
and Marks, with two constables, and a posse consisting of 
such rowdies at the last tavern as could be engaged by a 
little brandy to go and help the fun of trapping a set of 
niggers. 

Well, Tom, yer coons are farly treed,"’"’ said one. 

^^Yes, I see "’em go up right here, said Tom; ^^and 
here^s a path. I’m for going right up. They can"’t jump 
down in a hurry, and it won"’t take long to feiTet ’em out.” 

“But, Tom, they might fire at us from behind the 
rocks,” said Marks. That would be ugly, you know.” 

“Ugh ! ” said Tom, with a sneer. “ Always for saving 
your skin, Marks ! No danger ! niggers are too plaguey 
scared ! ” 

“ I don’t know why I sTiouldnH save my skin,” said 
Marks. “ It’s the best I’ve got ; and niggers do fight like 
the devil, sometimes.” 

At this moment, George appeared on the top of a rock 
above them, and speaking in a calm, clear voice, said, 

“Gentlemen, who are you, down there, and what do 
you want ? ” 

“ We want a party of runaway niggers,” said Tom Loker. 
“One George Harris, and Eliza Harris, and their son, 
and Jim Selden, and an old woman. We’ve got the offi- 
cers, here, and a warrant to take ’em ; and we’re going 
to have ’em, too. D’ye hear ? An’t you George Harris, 
that belongs to Mr. Harris, of Shelby County, Kentucky ? ” 

“ I am George Harris. A Mr. Harris, of Kentucky, did 
call me his property. But now I’m a free man, standing 
on God’s free soil ; and my wife and my child I claim as 
mine. Jim and his mother are here. We have arms to 
defend ourselves, and we mean to do it. You can come 
up, if you like ; but the first one of you that comes within 
the range of our bullets is a dead man, and the next and 
the next ; and so on till the last.” 

“ 0, come ! come ! ” said a short puffy man, stepping 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


21S 


forward, and blowing his nose as he did so. Young 
man, this an^’t no kind of talk at all for you. You see, 
we^re officers of justice. WeVe got the law on our side, 
and the power, and so forth ; so you^d better give up 
peaceably, you see ; for you^ll certainly have to give up, 
at last.'’^ 

I know very well that you\e got the law on your side, 
and the power, said George bitterly. You mean to take 
my wife to sell in New Orleans, and put my boy like a calf 
in a trader's pen, and send Jim's old mother to the brute 
that whipped and abused her before, because he couldn't 
abuse her son. You want to send Jim and me back to be 
whipped and tortured, and ground down under the heels 
of them that you call masters ; and your laws will bear you 
out in it, — more shame for you and them ! But you 
haven't got us. We don't own your laws ; we don't own 
your country ; we stand here as free, under God's sky, as 
you are ; and, by the great God that made us, we'll fight 
for our liberty till we die." 

George stood out in fair sight, on the top of the rock, 
as he made his declaration of independence ; the glow of 
dawn gave a fiush to his SAvarthy cheek, and bitter indig- 
nation and despair, gave fire to his dark eye ; and, as if ap- 
pealing from man to the justice of God, he raised his hand 
to heaven as he spoke. 

If it had been only a Hungarian youth, now, bravely 
defending, in some mountain fastness, the retreat of fugi- 
tives escaping from Austria into America, this would have 
been sublime heroism ; but as it was a youth of African 
descent, defending the retreat of fugitives through America 
into Canada, of course we are too well instructed and 
patriotic to see any heroism in it ; and if any of our read- 
ers do, they must do it on their own private responsi- 
bility. When despairing Hungarian fugitives make their 
way, against all the search-warrants and authorities of 
their lawful government, to America, press and political 
cabinet ring with applause and welcome. When despair- 
ing African fugitives do the same thing, — it is — what is it ? 

Be it as it may, it is certain that the attitude, eye, voice, 
manner, of the speaker, for a moment struck the party be- 
low to silence. There is something in boldness and deter- 
mination that for a time hushes even the rudest nature, 
Marks was the only one who remained wholly untouched. 


/ 


214 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


He was deliberately cocking his pistol, and, in the mo« 
mentary silence that followed George^s speech, he fired at 
him. 

Ye see ye get jist as much for him dead as alive in 
Kentucky, he said, coolly, as he wiped his pistol on his 
coat-sleeve. 

George sprang backward, — Eliza uttered a shriek, — the 
ball had passed close to his hair, had nearly grazed the 
cheek of his wife, and struck in the tree above. 

It’s nothing, Eliza,” said George, quickly. 

Thee’d better keep out of sight, with thy speechify- 
ing,” said Phineas ; they’re mean scamps.” 

^^Kow, Jim,” said George, ^^look that your pistols are 
all right, and watch that pass with me. The first man 
that shows himself I fire at ; you take the second, and 
so on. It won’t do, you know, to waste two shots on one.” 

But what if you don’t hit ? ” 

I shall hit,” said George, coolly. 

Good ! now, there’s stuff in that fellow,” muttered 
Phineas, between his teeth. 

The party below, after Marks had fired, stood, for a 
moment, rather undecided. 

I think you must have hit some on ’em,” said one of 
the men. I heard a squeal I ” 

I’m going right up for one,” said Tom. never 

was afraid of niggers, and I an’t going to be now. Who 
goes after ? ” he said, springing up the rocks. 

George heard the words distinctly. He drew up his 
pistol, examined it, pointed it towards that point in the 
defile where the first man would appear. 

One of the most courageous of the party followed Tom, 
and, the way being thus made, the whole party began 
pushing up the rock, — the hindermost pushing the front 
ones faster than they would have gone of themselves. On 
they came, and in a moment the burly form of Tom ap- 
peared in sight, almost at the verge of the chasm. 

George fired, — the shot entered his side, — but, though 
wounded, he would not retreat, but, with a yell like that 
of a mad bull, he was leaping right across the chasm into 
the party. 

Friend,” said Phineas, suddenly stepping to the front, 
and meeting him with a push from his long arms, thee 
isn’t wanted here.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


215 


Down he fell into the chasm, crackling down among 
trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till he lay, bruised and 
groaning, thirty feet below. The fall might have killed 
him, had it not been broken and moderated by his clothes 
catching in the branches of a large tree ; hut he came 
down with some force however, — more than was at all 
agreeable or convenient. 

Lord help us, they are perfect devils ! said Marks, 
heading the retreat down the rocks with much more of a 
will than he had joined the ascent, while all the party 
came tumbling precipitately after him, — the fat constable, 
in particular, blowing and puffing in a very energetic 
manner. 

I say, fellers, said Marks, ^^you jist go round and 
pick up Tom, there, while I run and get on to my horse, to 
go back for help, — that’s you ; and, without minding the 
bootings and jeers of his company, Marks was as good as 
his word, and was soon seen galloping away. 

Was ever such a sneaking varmint ? said one of the 
men ; to come on his business, and he clear out and leave 
us this yer way ! 

Well, we must pick up that feller, said another. 
Cuss me if I much care whether he is dead or alive.'’'’ 

The men, led by the groans of Tom, scrambled and 
crackled through stumps, logs and bushes, to where that 
hero lay groaning and swearing, with alternate vehemence. 

Ye keep it agoing pretty loud, Tom,^'’ said one. Ye 
much hurt ? ^'’ 

DoWt know. Get me up, canT ye ? Blast that in- 
fernal Quaker ! If it hadnT been for him, Fd a pitched 
some on '’em down here, to see how they liked it.^^ 

With much labor and groaning the fallen hero was as- 
sisted to rise ; and, with one holding him up under each 
shoulder, they got him as far as the horses. 

If you could only get me a mile back to that ar tavern. 
Give me a handkerchief or something, to stuff into this 
place, and stop this infernal bleeding.-’^ 

George looked over the rocks, and saw them trying to 
lift the burly form of Tom into the saddle. After two or 
three ineffectual attempts, he reeled, and fell heavily to 
the ground. 

0, 1 hope he isn’t killed ! ” said Eliza, who, with all the 
party, stood watching the proceeding. 


216 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; 0L\ 


Why not said Phineas ; serves him right.” 

Because, after death comes the judgment,” said 
Eliza. 

Yes,” said the old woman, who had been groaning and 
praying, in her Methodist fashion, during all the encounter, 
^‘^iPs an awful case for the poor crittur^s soul.” 

On my word, they^re leaving him, I do believe,” said 
Phineas. 

It was true ; for after some appearance of irresolution 
and consultation, the whole party got on their horses and 
rode away. When they were quite out of sight, Phineas 
began to bestir himself. 

Well, we must go down and walk a piece,” he said. 

I told Michael to go forward and bring help, and be along 
back here with the wagon ; but we shall have to walk a 
piece along the road, I reckon, to meet them. The Lord 
grant he be along soon ! IPs early in the day : there wonT 
be much travel afoot yet a while ; we anT much more than 
two miles from our stopping-place. If the road hadnT 
been so rough last night, we could have outrun Ym 
entirely.” 

As the party neared the fence, they discovered in the 
distance, along the road, their own wagon coming back, 
accompanied by some men on horseback. 

Well, now, there^s Michael, and Stephen, and Ama- 
riah !” exclaimed Phineas, joyfully. Now we are made, 
— as safe as if weM got there.” 

Well, do stop, then,” said Eliza, ^^and do something 
for that poor man ; he^s groaning dreadfully.” 

It would be no more than Christian,” said George ; 
^'lePs take him up and carry him on.” 

And doctor him up among the Quakers ! ” said 
Phineas; ^‘‘pretty well, that! Well, I donT care if we 
do. Here, lePs have a look at him ; ” and Phineas, who, 
in the course of his hunting and backwoods life, had 
acquired some rude experience of surgery, kneeled down 
by the wounded man, and began a careful examination of 
his condition. 

Marks,” said Tom, feebly, is that you, Marks ?” 

No ; I reckon TanT, friend,” said Phineas. Much 
Marks cares for thee, if his own skints safe. He^s off, 
long ago.” 

I believe Pm done for,” said Tom. The cussed 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 217 

sneaking dog, to leave me to die alone ! My poor old 
mother always told me '’t would be so/^ 

La sakes ! jist hear the poor crittur. He^s got a mam- 
my, now,"^ said the old negress. I can^’t help kinder 
pityin'’ on him/' 

Softly, softly ; don't thee snap and snarl, friend/' said 
Phineas, as Tom winced and pushed his hand away. 

Thee has no chance, unless I stop the bleeding." And 
Phineas busied himself with making some oif-hand surgical 
arrangements with his own pocket-handkerchief, and such 
as could be mustered in the company. 

You pushed me down there," said Tom, faintly. 

Well, if I hadn't,, thee would have pushed us down, 
thee sees," said Phineas, as he stooped to apply his band- 
age. There, there, — let me fix this bandage. We mean 
well to thee ; we hear no malice. Thee shall he taken to 
a house where they'll nurse thee first rate, — as well as thy 
own mother could." 

Tom groaned, and shut his eyes. In men of his class, 
vigor and resolution are entirely a physical matter, and 
ooze out with the flowing of the blood ; and the gigantic 
fellow reaUy looked piteous in his helplessness. 

The other party now came up. The seats were taken 
out of the wagon. The buffalo-skins, doubled in fours, were 
spread all along one side, and four men, with great diffi- 
culty, lifted the heavy form of Tom into it. Before he 
was gotten in, he fainted entirely. The old negress, in the 
abundance of her compassion, sat down on the bottom, and 
took his head in her lap. Eliza, George, and Jim, bestowed 
themselves, as well as they could, in the remaining space, 
and the whole party set forward. 

“What do you think of him ?" said George, who sat by 
Phineas in front. 

“Well, it's only a pretty deep flesh-wound ; but, then, 
tumbling and scratching down that place didn't help him 
much. It has bled pretty freely, — pretty much dreaned 
him out, courage and all, — but he'll get over it, and may 
be learn a thing or two by it." 

“ I'm glad to hear you say so," said George. “ It would 
always be a heavy thought to me, if I'd caused his death, 
even in a just cause." 

“Yes," said Phineas, “killing is an ugly operation, 
any wav they'll fix it, — man or beast. I've been a srreat 


218 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, 


hunter, in my day, and I tell thee IVe seen a buck that 
was shot down, and a-dying, look that way on a fellow with 
his eye, that it reely most made a feller feel wicked for 
killing on him ; and human creatures is a more serious 
consideration yet, bein^ as thy wife says, that the judg- 
ment comes to ^em after death. So I don^t know as our 
people^s notions on these matters is too strict ; and, con- 
sidering how I was raised, I fell in with them pretty con- 
siderably.^^ 

What shall you do with this poor fellow ? said George. 

0, carry him along-'to Amariah^s. There’s old Grand- 
mam Stephens there,— Dorcas, they call her, — she’s most an 
amazin’ nurse. She takes to nursing real natural and an’t 
never better suited than when she gets a sick body to tend. 
We may reckon on turning him over to her for a fortnight 
or so.” 

A ride of about an hour more brought the party to a neat 
farm-house, where the weary travellers were received to an 
abundant breakfast. Tom Loker was soon carefully depos- 
ited in a much cleaner and softer bed than he had ever been 
in the habit of occupying. His wound was carefully dressed 
and bandaged, and he lay languidly opening and shutting 
his eyes on the white window-curtains and gently-gliding 
figures of his sick-room, like a weary child. And here, for 
the present, we shall take our leave of one party. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

MISS Ophelia’s experiences and opinions. 

Our friend Tom, in his own simple musings, often com- 
pared his more fortunate lot, in the bondage into which 
he was cast, with that of Joseph in Egypt ; and, in fact, as 
time went on, and he developed more and more under the 
eye of his master, the strength of the parallel increased. 

St. Clare was indolent and careless of money. Hitherto 
the providing and marketing had been principally done by 
Adolph, who was, to the full, as careless and extravagant 
as his master ; and, between them both, they had carried 
on the dispersing process with great alacrity. Accustomed, 
for many years, to regard his master’s property as his own 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


219 


care, Tom saw, with an uneasiness he could scarcely repress, 
the wasteful expenditure of the establishment ; and, in the 
quiet, indirect way which his class often acquire, would 
sometimes make his own suggestions. 

St. Clare at first employed him occasionally ; but struck 
with his soundness of mind and good business capacity, he 
confided in him more and more, till gradually all the mar- 
keting and providing for the family were intrusted to him. 

^‘^No, no, Adolph, he said, one day, as Adolph was 
deprecating the passing of power out of his hands ; let 
Tom alone. You only understand what you want ; Tom 
understands cost and come to ; and there may be some 
end to money, by and by, if we donT let somebody do 
that. ” 

Trusted, to an unlimited extent, by a careless master, who 
handed him a bill without looking at it, and pocketed the 
change without counting it, Tom had every facility and 
temptation to dishonesty ; and nothing but an impre- 
gnable simplicity of nature, strengthened by Christian faith 
could have kept him from it. But to that nature, the very 
unbounded trust reposed in him was bond and seal for the 
most scrupulous accuracy. 

With Adolph the case had been different. Thoughtless 
and self-indulgent, and unrestrained by a master who found 
it easier to indulge than to regulate, he had fallen into an 
absolute confusion as to meum tuum with regard to himself 
and his master, which sometimes troubled even St. Clare. 
His own good sense taught him that such a training of his 
servants was unjust and dangerous. A sort of chronic 
remorse went with him everywhere, although not strong 
enough to make any decided change in his course ; and this 
very remorse reacted again into indulgence. He passed 
lightly over the most serious faults, because he told himself 
that, if he had done his part, his dependents had not fallen 
into them. 

Tom regarded his gay, airy, handsome young master 
with an odd mixture of fealty, reverence, and fatherly 
solicitude. That he never read the Bible ; never went to 
church ; that he jested and made free with any and every- 
thing that came m the way of his wit ; that he spent his 
Sunday evenings at the opera or theatre ; that he went to 
wine-parties, and clubs, and suppers, oftener than was at all 
expedient, — were all things that Tom could see as plainly 


220 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


as anybody, and on which he based a conviction that Mash 
wasn^t a Christian ; — a conviction, however, which he 
would have been very slow to express to any one else, but 
on which he founded many prayers, in his own simple 
fashion, when he was by himself in his little dormitory. 
Not that Tom had not his own way of speaking his mind 
occasionally, with something of the fact often observable in 
his class ; as, for example, the very day after the Sabbath 
we have described, St. Clare was invited out to a convivial 
part}^ of choice spirits, and was helped home, between one 
and two o^clock at night, in a condition when the physical 
had decidedly attained the upper hand of the intellectual. 
Tom and Adolph asissted to get him composed for the 
night — the latter in high spirits, evidently regarding the 
matter as a good joke, and laughing heartily at the rusticity 
of Tom^s horror, who really was simple enough to lie awake 
most of the rest of the night, praying for his young 
master. 

Well, Tom, what are you waiting for ?” said St. Clare, 
the next day, as he sat in his library, in dressing-gown and 
slippers. St. Clare had just been entrusting Tom with 
some money, and various commissions. Isn't all right 
there, Tom ? he added, as Tom still stood waiting. 

I^m Traid not, Mash,^"* said Tom, with a grave face. 
St. Clare laid down his paper, and set down his coffee- 
cup, and looked at Tom. 

Why, Tom, what’s the case ? You look as solemn as 
a coffin.” 

I feel very bad, Mas’r. I allays have thought that 
Mas’r would be good to everybody.” 

Well, Tom haven ’t I been ? Come, now, what do you 
want ? There’s something you haven’t got, I suppose, and 
this is the preface.” 

Mas’r allays been good to me. I haven’t nothing to 
complain of, on that head. But there is one that Mas’r 
isn’t good to.” 

Why, Tom, what’s got into you ? Speak out ; what do 
you mean ? ” 

Last night, between one and two, T thought so. I 
studied upon the matter then. Mas’r isn’t good to himself. ” 
Tom said this with his back to his master, and his hand 
on the door-knob. St. Clare felt his face flush crimson, 
but he laughed. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


221 


0, that’s all, is it ? ” he said gayly. 

All ! ” said Tom, turning suddenly round, and falling 
on his knees. 0, my dear young Mas’r ! Fm ’fraid it 
will be loss of all — all — body and soul. The good Book 
says, ^ it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder ! ’ 
my dear Mas’r ! ” 

Tom’s voice choked, and the tears ran down his cheeks. 

You poor, silly fool !” said St. Clare, with tears in his 
own eyes. “ Get up, Tom. I’m not worth crying over.” 

But Tom wouldn’t rise, and looked imploring. 

Well, I won’t go to any more of their cursed nonsense, 
Tom,” said St. Clare ; on my honor, I won’t. I don’t know 
why I haven’t stopped long ago. I ’ve always despised it, 
and myself for it, — so now, Tom, wipe up your eyes, and 
go about your errands. Come, come,” he added, ‘^no bless- 
ings. I’m not so wonderfully good, now,” he said, as he 
gently pushed Tom to the door. There, I’ll pledge my 
honor to you, Tom, you don’t see me so again,” he said ; 
and Tom went off, wiping his eyes with great satisfaction. 

‘^I’ll keep my faith with him, too,” said St. Clare, as he 
closed the door. 

And St. Clare did so, — for gross sensualism, in any form, 
was not the peculiar temptation of his nature. 

But, all this time, who shall detail the tribulations man- 
ifold of our friend Miss Ophelia, who had begun the labors 
of a Southern housekeeper ? 

There is all the difference in the world in the servants 
of Southern establishments, according to the character 
and capacity of the mistresses who have brought them 
up. 

South as well as north, there are women who have an 
extraordinary talent for command, and tact in educating. 
Such are enabled, with apparent ease, and without severity, 
to subject to their will, and bring into harmonious and 
systematic order, the various members of their small estate, 
— to regulate their peculiarities, and so balance and com- 
pensate the deficiencies of one by the excess of another, as 
to produce a harmonious and orderly system. 

Such a housekeeper was Mrs. Shelby, whom we have 
already described ; and such our readers may remember to 
have met with. If they are not common at the South, it 
is because they are not common in the world. They are 
to be found there as often as anywhere ; and, when exist- 


t:22 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


ing, find in that peculiar state of society a brilliant oppor 
tunity to exhibit their domestic talent. 

Such a housekeeper Marie St. Claie was not, nor hei 
mother before her. Indolent and childish, unsystematic 
and improvident, it was not to be expected that servants 
trained under her care should not be so likewise ; and she 
had very justly described to Miss Ophelia the state of con- 
fusion she would find in the family, though she had not 
ascribed it to the proper cause. 

The first morning of her regency. Miss Ophelia was up 
at four o^clock ; and having attended to all the ad j ustments 
of her own chamber, as she had done ever since she came 
there, to the great amazement of the chambermaid, she 
prepared for a vigorous onslaught on the cupboards and 
closets of the establishment of which she had the keys. 

The store-room, the linen-presses, the china-closet, the 
kitchen and cellar, that day, all went under an awful re- 
view. Hidden things of darkness were brought to light to 
an extent that alarmed all the principalities and powers of 
kitchen and chamber, and caused many wonderings and 
murmurings about dese yer northern ladies ” from the 
domestic cabinet. 

Old Dinah, the head cook, and principal of all rule and 
authority in the kitchen department, was filled with wrath 
at what she considered an invasion of privilege. No feudal 
ha,Yonm Magna Charta times could have more thoroughly 
resented some incursion of the crown. 

Dinah was a character in her own way, and it would be 
injustice to her memory not to give the reader a little idea 
of her. She was a native and essential cook, as much as 
Aunt Chloe, — cooking being an indigenous talent of the 
African race ; but Chloe was a trained and methodical one, 
who moved in an orderly domestic harness, while Dinah 
was a self-taught genius, and, like geniuses in general, was 
positive, opinionated, and erratic, to the last degree. 

Like a certain class of modern philosophers, Dinah per- 
fectly scorned logic and reason in every shape, and always 
took refuge in intuitive certainty ; and here she was per- 
fectly impregnable. No possible amount of talent, or 
authority, or explanation, could ever make her believe that 
any other way was better than her own, or that the course 
she had pursued in the smallest matter could be in the 
least modified. This had been a conceded point with her 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


223 


old mistress, Marie^s mother ; and “ Miss Marie,^^ as Dinah 
always called her young mistress, even after her marriage, 
found it easier to submit than contend ; and so Dinah had 
ruled supreme. This was the easier, in that she was per- 
fect mistress of that diplomatic art which unites the ut- 
most subservience of manner with the utmost inflexibility 
as to measure. 

Dinah was mistress of the whole art and mystery of ex- 
cuse-making, in all its branches. Indeed, it was an axiom 
with her that the cook can do no wrong ; and a cook in a 
Southern kitchen flnds abundance of heads and shoulders 
on which to lay ofl every sin and frailty, so as to maintain 
her own immaculateness entire. If any part of the dinner 
was a failure, there were flfty indisputably good reasons for 
it ; and it was the fault, undeniably, of fifty other people, 
whom Dinah berated with unsparing zeal. 

But it was very seldom that there was any failure in 
Dinah^’s last results. Though her mode of doing everything 
was peculiarly meandering and circuitous, and without any 
sort of calculation as to time and place, — though her kitchen 
generally looked as if it had been arranged by a hurricane 
blowing through it, and she had about as many places for 
each cooking utensil as there were days in the year, — yet, 
if one would have patience to wait her own good time, up 
would come her dinner in perfect order, and in a style of 
preparation with which an epicure could find no fault. 

It was now the season of incipient preparation for dinner. 
Dinah, who required large intervals of reflection and repose, 
and was studious of ease in all her arrangements, was seated 
on the kitchen floor, smoking a short, stumpy pipe, to 
which she was much addicted, and which she always kin- 
dled up, as a sort of censer whenever she felt the need of an 
inspiration in her arrangements. It was Dinah’s mode of 
invoking the domestic Muses. 

Seated around her were various members of that rising 
race with- which a Southern household abounds, engaged 
in shelling peas, peeling potatoes, picking pin-feathers out 
of fowls, and other preparatory arrangements, — Dinah 
every once in a while interrupting her meditations to give 
a poke, or a rap on the head, to some of the young opera- 
tors, with the pudding-stick that lay by her side. In fact, 
Dinah ruled over the woolly heads of the younger members 
with a rod of iron, and seemed to consider them bom for 


224 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


no earthly purpose but to ^^save her steps/^ as she phrased 
it. It was the spirit of the system under which she had 
grown up, and she carried it out to its full extent. 

Miss Ophelia, after passing on her reformatory tour 
through all the other parts of the establishment, now en- 
tered the kitchen. Dinah had heard, from various sources, 
what was going on, and resolved to stand on defensive and 
conservative ground, mentally determined to oppose and 
ignore every new measure, without any actual and observ- 
able contest. 

The kitchen was a large brick-floored apartment, with a 
great old-fashioned flreplace stretching along one side of 
it, — an arrangement which St. Clare had vainly tried to 
persuade Dinah to exchange for the convenience of a mod- 
ern cook-stove. Not she. No Puseyite, or conservative 
of any school, was ever more inflexibly attached to time- 
honored inconveniencies than Dinah. 

When St. Clare had first returned from the north, im- 
pressed with the system and order of his uncle’s kitchen 
arrangements, he had largely provided his own with an 
array of cupboards, drawers^ and various apparatus, to in- 
duce systematic regulation, under the sanguine illusion 
that it would be of any possible assistance to Dinah in her 
arrangements. He might as well have provided them for 
a squirrel or a magpie. The more drawers and closets there 
were, the more hiding-holes could Dinah make for the ac- 
commodation of old rags, hair-combs, old shoes, ribbons, 
cast-off artificial flowers, and other articles of vertu where- 
in her soul delighted. 

When Miss Ophelia entered the kitchen, Dinah did not 
rise, but smoked on in sublime tranquillity, regarding her 
movements obliquely out of the corner of her eye, but ap- 
parently intent only on the operations around her. 

Miss Ophelia commenced opening a set of drawers. 

What is this drawer for, Dinah ?” she said. 

It’s handy for most anything. Missis,” said Dinah. So 
it appeared to be. From the variety it contained. Miss 
Ophelia pulled out first a fine damask table-cloth stained 
with blood, having evidently been used to envelop some 
raw meat. 

What’s this, Dinah ? You don’t wrap up meat in your 
mistress’ best table-cloths ? ” 

0 Lor, Missis, no ; the towels was all a-missin’, — so I 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


225 


Jest did it. I laid out to wash that ar, — that^s why I put 
it thar.” 

Shif less ! ” said Miss Ophelia to herself, proceeding to 
tumble over the drawer, where she found a nutmeg-grater 
and two or three nutmegs, a Methodist hymn-book, a couple 
of soiled Madras handkerchiefs, some yarn and knitting- 
work, a paper of tobacco and a pipe, a few crackers, one 
or two gilded china-saucers with some pomade in them, one 
or two thin old shoes, a piece of flannel carefully pinned 
up enclosing some small white onions, several damask table- 
napkins, some coarse crash towels, some twine and darning- 
needles, and several broken papers, from which sundry 
sweet herbs were sifting into the drawer. 

Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah ? said Miss 
Ophelia, with the air of one who prayed for patience. 

Most anywhar. Missis ; there^’s some in that cracked 
tea-cup, up there, and there^s some over in that ar cup- 
board. 

Here are some in the grater,^'’ said Miss Ophelia, hold- 
ing them up. 

Laws, yes, I put ^em there this morning, — I likes to 
keep my things handy, said Dinah. You, Jake ! what 
are you stopping for ! Youfll cotch it ! Be still, thar I” 
she added, with a dive of her stick at the criminal. 

“ What’s this ? ” said Miss Ophelia, holding up the saucer 
of pomade. 

^^Laws, it’s my har grease; — I put it thar to have it 
handy.” 

Do you use your mistress’ best saucers for that ?” 

Law ! it was cause I was driv, and in sich a hurry ; — I 
was gwine to change it this very day.” 

Here are two damask table-napkins.” 

Them table-napkins I put thar, to get ’em washed out, 
some day.” 

Don’t you have some place here on purpose for things 
to be washed ? ” 

Well, Mas’r St. Clare got dat ar chest, he said, for dat ; 
but 1 likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some 
days, and then it an’t handy a-liftin’ up the lid.” 

Why don’t you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, 
there ? ” 

Law, Missis, it gets sot so full of dishes, and one thing 
and another, der an’t no room, noways ” 

15 


226 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


^^Bnt you should wasji your dishes, and clear them 
away/^ 

Wash my dishes \” said Dinah, in a high key, as her 
wrath began to rise over her habitual respect of manner ; 

what does ladies know ^bout work, I want to know ? 
WhenM Mas^r ever get his dinner, if I was to spend all my 
time a-washin^ and a-puttin^ up dishes ? Miss Marie never 
telled me so, nohow/^ 

^^Well, here are these onions/^ 

Laws, yes ! said Dinah ; thar is whar I put ’em, 
now. I couldn’t ’member. Them’s particular onions I 
was a-savin’ for dis yer very stew. I’d forgot they was in 
dat ar old flannel.” 

Miss Ophelia lifted out the sifting papers of sweet herbs. 

I wish Missis wouldn’t touch dem ar. I likes to keep 
my things where I knows whar to go to ’em,” said Dinah, 
rather decidedly. 

But you don’t want these holes in the papers.” 

Them’s handy for siftin’ on’t out,” said Dinah. 

But you see it spills all over the drawer.” 

Laws, yes ! if Missis will go a- tumblin’ things all up 
so, it will. Missis has spilt lots dat ar way,” said Dinah, 
coming uneasily to the drawers. If Missis only will go 
upstairs till my clarin’ up time comes. I’ll have everything 
right ; but I can’t do nothin’ when ladies is round, a hen- 
derin’. You, Sam, don’t you gib the baby dat ar sugar- 
bowl ! I’ll crack ye over, if ye don’t mind ! ” 

I’m going through the kitchen, and going to put every- 
thing in order, once, Dinah ; and then I’ll expect you to 
keep it so.” 

Lor, now ! Miss ’Phelia ; dat ar an’t no way for ladies 
to do. I never did see ladies doin’ no sich ; my old Missis 
nor Miss Marie never did, and I don’t see no kinder need 
on’t ; ” and Dinah stalked indignantly about, while Miss 
Ophelia piled and sorted dishes, emptied dozens of scatter- 
ing bowls of sugar into one receptacle, sorted napkins, table- 
cloths, and towels, for washing ; washing, wiping, and ar- 
ranging with her own hands, and with a speed and alacrity 
which perfectly amazed Dinah. 

^^Lor, now !' if dat ar de way dem northern ladies do, 
dey an’t ladies, nohow,” she said to some of her satellites, 
when at a safe hearing distance. I has things as straight 
as anybody, when my clarin’ up time comes ; but I don’t 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


227 


want ladies round, a-henderin^, and getting my things all 
where I can^t find ^em/' 

To do Dinah justice, she had, at irregular periods, 
paroxysms of reformation and arrangement, which she called 
clarin'’ up times, when she would begin with great zeal, 
and turn every drawer and closet wrong side outward, on 
to the fioor or tables, and make the ordinary confusion 
seven-fold more confounded. Then she would light her 
pipe, and leisurely go over her arrangements, looking things 
over, and discoursing upon them ; making all the young 
fry scour most vigorously on the tin things, and keeping 
up for several hours a most energetic state of confusion, 
which she would explain to the satisfaction of all inquirers, 
by the remark that she was a clarin^ up.^’ She couldn^t 
hev things a-gwine on so as they had been, and she was 
gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order ; 
for Dinah herself, somehow, indulged the illusion that she, 
herself, was the soul of order, and it was only the young 
uns, and the everybody else in the house, that were the 
cause of anything that fell short of perfection in this re- 
spect. When all the tins were scoured, and the tables 
scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend 
tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress 
herself up in a smart dress, clean apron, and high, brilliant 
Madras turban, and tell all marauding young ^uns to keep 
out of the kitchen, for she was gwine to have things kept 
nice. Indeed, these periodic seasons were often an incon- 
venience to the whole household ; for Dinah would contract 
such an immoderate attachment to her scoured tin, as to 
insist upon it that it shouldnT he used again for any pos- 
sible purpose, — at least, till the ardor of the clarin^ up 
period abated. 

Miss Ophelia, in a few days, thoroughly reformed every 
department of the house to a systematic pattern ; hut her 
labors in all departments that depended on the co-operation 
of servants were like those of Sisyphus or the Danaides. 
In despair, she one day appealed to St. Clare. 

There is no such thing as getting anything like system 
in this family ! 

To be sure, there isnT,^^ said St. Clare. 

Such shiftless management, such waste, such confu- 
sion, I never saw ! 

I dare say you didnT/^ 


228 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


You would not take it so coolly, if you were house- 
keeper/^ 

^"My dear cousin, you may as well understand, once for 
all, that we masters are divided into two classes, oppressors 
and oppressed. We who are good-natured and hate severity 
make up our minds to a good deal of inconvenience. If . 
we will keep a shambling, loose, untaught set in the com- 
munity, for our convenience, why, we must take the con- 
sequence. Some rare cases I have seen, of persons, who, 
by a peculiar tact, can produce order and system without 
severity ; but Pm not one of them, — and so I made up my 
mind, long ago, to let things go just as they do. I will not 
have the poor devils thrashed and cut to pieces, and they 
know it, — and, of course, they know the staff is in their 
own hands.'’' 

But to have no time, no place, no order, — all going on 
in this shiftless way ! " 

^‘^My dear Vermont, you natives up by the North Pole 
set an extravagant value on time ! What on earth is the 
use of time to a fellow who has twice as much of it as he 
knows what to do with ? As to order and system, where 
there is nothing to be done but to lounge on the sofa and 
read, an hour sooner or later in breakfast or dinner isn't of 
much account. Now, there's Dinah gets you a capital din- 
ner, — soup, ragout, roast fowl, dessert, ice-creams and all, 
— and she creates it all out of chaos and old night down 
there, in that kitchen. I think it really sublime, the way 
she manages. But, Heaven bless us ! if we are to go down 
there, and view all the smoking and squatting about, and 
hurryscurryation of the preparatory process, we should never 
eat more ! My good cousin, absolve yourself from that ! 
It's more than a Catholic penance, and does no more good. 
You'll only lose your own temper, and utterly confound 
Dinah. Let her go her own way." 

But, Augustine, you don't know how I found things." 

Don't I ? Don't I know that the rolling-pin is under 
her bed, and the nutmeg-grater in her pocket with her to- 
bacco, — that there are sixty-five different sugar-bowls, one 
in every hole in the house, — that she washes dishes with a 
dinner-napkin one day, and with a fragment of an old pet- 
ticoat the next ? But the upshot is, she gets up glorious 
dinners, makes superb coffee ; and you must judge her as 
warriors and statesmen are judged, by her success” 



Uncle Tom''s Cabin. Byron Photo, Courtesy of IV. A, Brady. 

x'^unt Ophelia. 


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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


229 


But the waste, — the expense ! ” 

0, well ! Lock everything you can, and keep the key. 
Give out by driblets, and never inquire for odds and ends, 
— it isn^t best.” 

That troubles me, Augustine. I canT help feeling as 
if these servants were not strictly honest. Are you sure 
they can be relied on ? ” 

Augustine laughed immoderately at the grave and anxious 
face with which Miss Ophelia propounded the question. 

0 cousin, that’s too good, — honest ! — as if that^s a 
thing to be expected ! Honest ! — why, of course, they 
arenT. Why should they be ? What upon earth is to 
make them so ? ” 

Why donT you instruct ? ” 

Instruct ! 0, fiddlestick ! What instructing do you 

think I should do ? I look like it ! As to Marie, she has 
spirit enough, to be sure, to kill off a whole plantation, if 
I’d let her manage ; but she wouldn’t get the cheatery out 
of them.” 

Are there no honest ones ? ” 

Well, now and then one, whom Nature makes so im- 
practicably simple, truthful, and faithful, that the worst 
possible infiuence can’t destroy it. But, you see, from the 
mother’s breast the colored child feels and sees that there 
are none but underhand ways open to it. It can get along 
no other way with its parents, its mistress, its young 
master and missie playfellows. Cunning and deception 
become necessary, inevitable habits. It isn’t fair to ex- 
pect anything else of him. He ought not to be punished 
for it. As to honesty, the slave is kept in that dependent, 
semi-childish state, that there is no making him realize the 
rights of property, or feel that his master’s goods are not 
his own, if he can get them. For my part, I don’t see how 
they can be honest. Such a fellow as Tom, here, is — is a 
moral miracle ! ” 

And what becomes of their souls ? ” said Miss Ophelia. 

That isn’t my affair as I know of,” said St. Clare ; 

I am only dealing in facts of the present life. The fact 
is, that the whole race are pretty generally understood to 
be turned over to the devil, for our benefit, in this world, 
however it may turn out in another ! ” 

This is perfectly horrible ! ” said Miss Ophelia ; ^^you 
ought to be ashamed of yourselves ! ” 


280 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


I don^t know as I am. We are in pretty good com- 
pany, for all that,” said St. Clare, "^as people in the broad 
road generally are. Look at the high and the low, all the 
world over, and it^s the same story, — the lower class used 
up, body, soul, and spirit, for the good of the upper. It is 
so in England ; it is so everywhere ; and yet all Christen- 
dom stands aghast, with virtuous indignation, because we 
do the thing in a little ditferent shape from what they do it.” 

It isn^’t so in Vermont.” 

Ah, well, in New England, and in the free States, you 
have the better of us, I grant. But there^s the bell ; so, 
cousin, let us for a while lay aside our sectional preju- 
dices, and come out to dinner.” 

As Miss Ophelia was in the kitchen in the latter part of 
the afternoon, some of the sable children called out, La, 
sakes ! thar’s Prue a-coming, grunting along like she allers 
does.” 

A tall, bony, colored woman now entered the kitchen, 
bearing on her head a basket of rusks and hot rolls. 

Ho, Prue ! youVe come,” said Dinah. 

Prue had a peculiar, scowling expression of countenance, 
and a sullen, grumbling voice. She set down her basket, 
squatted herself down, and resting her elbows on her 
knees said, 

0 Lord ! I wish^t I^s dead ! ” 

Why do you wish you were dead ? ” said Miss 
Ophelia. 

IM be out o^ my misery,” said the woman, gruffly, 
without taking her eyes from the floor. 

What need you getting drunk, then, and cutting up, 
Prue ?” said a spruce quadroon chambermaid, dangling, 
as she spoke, a pair of coral ear-drops. 

The woman looked at her with a sour, surly glance. 

Maybe youfll come to it, one of these yer days. Pd 
be glad to see you, I would ; then youfll be glad of" a drop, 
like me, to forget your misery.” 

Come, Prue,” said Dinah, lePs look at your rusks. 
Kerens Missis will pay for them.” 

Miss Ophelia took out a couple of dozen. 

ThaPs some tickets in that ar old cracked jug on the 
top shelf,” said Dinah. You, Jake, climb up and get 
it down.” 

Tickets, — what are they for ?” said Miss Ophelia. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


231 


We buys tickets of her Mas"r, and she gives us bread 
for ^em/^ 

"" And they counts my money and tickets, when I gets 
home, to see if I^s got the change ; and if I han^t, they 
half kills me. ’^ 

"" And serves you right/^ said Jane, the pert chamber- 
maid, if you will take their money to get drunk on. 
That^s what she does. Missis.^'’ 

And that^s what I vjill do, — I can^t live no other ways, 
— drink and forget my misery.'’^ 

""You are very wicked and very foolish,^^ said Miss 
Ophelia, "" to steal your master^s money to make yourself 
a brute with.^'’ 

"" It"s mighty likely. Missis ; but I will do it, — yes, I 
will. 0 Lord ! I wish Fs dead, I do, — I wish I^s dead, 
and out of my misery ! ” and slowly and stiffly the old 
creature rose, and got her basket on her head again ; but 
before she went out, she looked at the quadroon girl, who 
still stood playing with her ear-drops. 

""Ye think ye^re mighty fine with them ar, a-frolickin' 
and a-tossin^ your head, and a lookin'’ down on everybody. 
Well, never mind, — you may live to be a poor, old, cut- 
up crittur, like me. Hope to the Lord ye will, I do ; then 
see if ye won^t drink, — drink, — drink, — yerself into tor- 
ment ; and sarve ye right, too, ugh ! and, with a malig- 
nant howl, the woman left the room. 

""Disgustipg old beast said Adolph, who was getting 
his masters shaving- water. "" If I was her master, IM cut 
her up worse than she is." 

""Ye couldn^t do that ar, noways," said Dinah. ""Her 
back^’s a far sight now, — she can^t never get a dress to- 
gether over it." 

"" I think such low creatures ou^ht not to be allowed to 
go round to genteel families," said Miss Jane. ""What 
do you think, Mr. St. Clare ?" she said, coquettishly 
tossing her head at Adolph. 

It must be observed that, among other appropriations 
from his master^s stock, Adolph was in the habit of adopt- 
ing his name and address ; and that the style under which 
he moved, among the colored circles of Hew Orleans, was 
that of Mr. St. Clare. 

""Fm certainly of your opinion. Miss Benoir," said 
Adolph. 


232 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


Benoir was the name of Marie St. Clarets family, and 
Jane was one of her servants. 

Pray, Miss Benoir, may I be allowed to ask if those 
drops are for the ball, to-morrow night ? They are cer- 
tainly bewitching ! 

I wonder, now, Mr. St. Clare, what the impudence of 
you men will come to ! said Jane, tossing her pretty 
head till the ear-drops twinkled again. I shanT dance 
with you for a whole evening, if you go to asking me any 
more, questions.'’^ 

0, you couldnT be so cruel, now ! I was just dying 
to know whether you would appear in your pink tarletane,^^ 
said Adolph. 

What is it ? said Eosa, a bright, piquant little quad- 
roon, who came skipping downstairs at this moment. 

^^Why, Mr. St. Claret’s so impudent 

On my honor, said Adolph, Pll leave it to Miss 
Eosa, now.” 

I know he^s always a saucy creature,” said Eosa, pois- 
ing herself on one of her little feet, and looking mali- 
ciously at Adolph. He^s always getting me so angry with 
him.” 

0 ! ladies, ladies, you will certainly break my heart, 
between you,” said Adolph. I shall be found dead in 
my bed, some morning, and you^ll have it to answer for.” 

Do hear the horrid creature talk ! ” said both ladies, 
laughing immoderately. 

Come, — clar out, you ! I canT have you cluttering up 
the kitchen,” said Dinah ; in my way, foolin^ round here.” 

Aunt DinalPs glum, because she canT go to the ball,” 
said Eosa. 

DonT want none o^ your' light- colored balls,” said 
Dinah ; cuttin^ round, makin^ Vlieve you^s white folks. 
Arter all, you^s niggers, much as I am.” 

Aunt Dinah greases her wool stiff, every day, to make 
it lie straight,” said Jane. 

And it will be wool, after all,” said Eosa, maliciously 
shaking down her long, silky curls. 

W^ell, in the Lord’s sight, an’t wool as good as bar, 
any time ? ” said Dinah. I’d like to have Missis say 
which is worth the most, — a couple such as you or one like 
me. Get out wid ye, ye trumpery, — I won’t have ye 
round ! ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


233 


Here the conversation was interrupted in a two-fold 
manner. St. Clarets voice was heard at the head of the 
stairs, asking Adolph if he meant to stay all night with 
his shaving-water ; and Miss Ophelia, coming out of the 
dining-room, said, 

Jane and Rosa, what are you wasting your time for, 
here ? Go in and attend to your muslins. 

Our friend Tom, who had been in the kitchen during 
the conversation with the old rusk woman, had followed 
her out into the street. He saw her go on, giving every 
once in a while a suppressed groan. At last she set her 
basket down on a doorstep, and began arranging the old, 
faded shawl which covered her shoulders. 

Til carry your basket a piece, said Tom, compassion- 
ately. 

‘‘Why should ye?” said the woman. donT want 
no help.” 

You seem to be sick, or in trouble, or something” said 
Tom. 

I anT sick,” said the woman, shortly, 
wish,” said Tom, looking at her earnestly, — wish 
I could persuade you to leave off drinking. DonT you 
know it will be the ruin of ye, body and soul ? ” 

I knows I^m gwine to torment,” said the woman, sul- 
lenly. Ye donT need to tell me that ar. Ts ugly, — Ts 
wicked, — I^s gwine straight to torment. 0 Lord ! I wish 
Tsthar!” 

Tom shuddered at these frightful words, spoken with a 
sullen, impassioned earnestness. 

0 Lord have mercy on ye ! poor crittur. Han^t ye 
never heard of Jesus Christ ?” 

Jesus Christ, — when’s He ? ” 

Why, He"s the Lord,” said Tom. 

1 think IVe heard tell o^ the Lord, and the judgment, 
and torment. IVe heard o^ that.” 

But didnT anybody ever tell you of the Lord Jesus, 
that loved us poor sinners, and died for us !” 

DonT know nothin’ ’bout that,” said the woman ; 

nobody han’t never loved me since my old man died.” 

Where was you raised ? ” said Tom. 

Up in Kentuck. A man kept me to breed chil’en for 
market, and sold ’em as fast as they got big enough ; last 
of all, he sold me to a speculator, and my Mas’r got me o’ 
him.” 


234 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


What set yon into this bad way of drinkin^ ? 

To get shet o’ my misery. I had one child after 1 
come here ; and I thought then I’d have one to raise, cause 
Mas’r wasn’t a speculator. It was de peartest little thing ! 
and Missis she seemed to think a heap on’t, at first ; it 
never cried, — it was likely and fat. But Missis tuck sick, 
and I tended her ; and 1 tuck the fever, and my milk all 
left me, and the child it pined to skin and bone, and 
Missis wouldn’t buy milk for it. She wouldn’t hear to me, 
when I telled her I hadn’t milk. She said she knowed I 
could feed it on what other folks eat ; and the child kinder 
pined, and cried, and cried, and cried, day and night, and 
got all gone to skin and hones, and Missis got sot agin it, 
and she said ’twan’t nothin’ but crossness. She wished it 
was dead, she said ; and she wouldn’t let me have it o’ 
nights, cause, she said, it kept me awake, and made me 
good for nothing. She made me sleep in her room, and I 
had to put it away off in a little kind o’ garret, and thar it 
cried itself to death, one night. It did ; and I tuck to 
dr inkin’, to keep its crying out of my ears ! I did, — and 
I will drink ! I will, if I do go to torment for it ! Mas’r 
says I shall go to torment, and I tell him I’ve got thar 
now I ” 

0, ye poor crittur !” said Tom, han’t nobody never 
telled ye how the Lord Jesus loved ye, and died for ye ? 
Han’t they telled ye that He’ll help ye, and ye can go to 
heaven, and have rest, at last ? ” 

I looks like gwine to heaven,” said the woman ; an’t 
thar where white folks is gwine ? S’pose they’d have me 
thar ? I’d rather go to torment, and get away from Mas’r 
and Missis. I had, so/’ she said, as, with her usual groan, 
she got her basket on her head, and walked sullenly away. 

Tom turned, and walked sorrowfully back to the house. 
In the court he met little Eva, — a crown of tuberoses on 
her head, and her eyes radiant with delight. 

0 Tom ! here you are. I’m glad I’ve found you. 
Papa says you may get out the ponies, and take me in my 
little new carriage,” she said, catching his hand. ‘^But 
what’s the matter, Tom ? — you look so&r.” 

"‘^I feel had. Miss Eva,” said Tom, sorrowfully. But 
I’ll get the horses for you.” 

But do tell me, Tom, what is the matter. I saw you 
talking to cross old Prue.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


235 


_ Tom, in simple, earnest phrase, told Eva the woman^s 
history. She did not exclaim, or wonder, or weep, as 
other children do. Her cheeks grew pale, and a deep, 
earnest shadow passed over her eyes. She laid both hands 
on her bosom, and sighed heavily. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MISS OPHELIA^S EXPEKIEKCES AX'D OPINIOXS, COX- 
TIXUED. 

Tom, you needn^t get me the horses. I don^t want 
to go,” she said. 

Why not. Miss Eva ?” 

These things sink into my heart, Tom,” said Eva, 
— they sink into my heart,” she repeated, earnestly. I 
don^t want to go ; ” and she turned from Tom, and went 
into the house. 

A few days after, another woman came, in old Prue^s 
place, to bring the rusks ; Miss Ophelia was in the kitchen. 

Lor ! ” said Dinah, whaPs got Prue ? ” 

Prue isnT coming any more,” said the woman, mys- 
teriously. 

Why not ?” said Dinah. She anT dead, is she? ” 

We doesn^t exactly know. She^s down cellar,” said 
the woman, glancing at Miss Ophelia. 

After Miss Ophelia had taken the rusks, Dinah followed 
the woman to the door. 

What has got Prue, anyhow ?” she said. 

The woman seemed desirous, yet reluctant, to speak, 
and answered, in a low, mysterious tone. 

‘^^Well, you mustn^t tell nob '' 



agin, — and they had her down 


her all day, — and 1 hearn ^em saying that the flies had got 
to her , — and she^s dead ! ” 

Dinah held up her hands, and, turning, saw close by her 
side the spirit-like form of Evangeline, her large, mystic 
eyes dilated with horror, and every drop of blood driven 
from her lips and cheeks. 

Lor bless us ! Miss Eva^s gwine to faint away ! What 


236 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 

got ns all, to let her har such talk ? Her pa^ll be rail 
mad/^ 

‘‘1 shan^t faint, Dinah,^’ said the child, firmly ; ^^and 
why shouldn't I hear it ? It an^t so much for me to hear 
it, as for poor Prue to suffer it.” 

Lor sokes / it isn't for sweet, delicate young ladies, 
like you, — these yer stories isn't ; it's enough to kill 'em ! " 

Eva sighed again, and walked upstairs with a slow and 
melancholy step. 

Miss Ophelia anxiously inquired the woman's story. 
Dinah gave a very garrulous version of it, to which Tom 
added the particulars which he had drawn from her that 
morning. 

An abominable business, — perfectly horrible ! " she 
exclaimed, as she entered the room where St. Clare lay 
reading his paper. 

Pray, what iniquity has turned up now ? " said he. 

What now ? why, those folks have whipped Prue to 
death ! " said Miss Ophelia, going on, with great strength 
of detail, into the story, and enlarging on its most shock- 
ing particulars. 

I thought it would come to that, some time," said St. 
Clare, going on with his paper. 

Thought so ! — an't you going to do anything about 
it ? " said Miss Ophelia. Haven't you got any sdectmen, 
or anybody, to interfere and look after such matters ? " 

It's commonly supposed that the property interest is 
a sufficient guard in these cases. If people choose to ruin 
their own possessions, I don't know what's to be done. It 
seems the poor creature was a thief and a drunkard ; and 
so there won't be much hope to get up sympathy for her." 

'^Itis perfectly outrageous, — it is horrid, Augustine! 
It will certainly bring down vengeance upon you." 

My dear cousin, I didn't do it, and I can't help it ; I 
would, if I could. If low-minded, brutal people will act 
like themselves, what am I to do ? They have absolute 
control ; they are irresponsible despots. There would be 
no use in interfering ; there is no law that amounts to any- 
thing practically, for such a case. The best we can do is 
to shut our eyes and ears, and let it alone. It's the only 
resource left us." 

How can you shut your eyes and ears ? How can you 
let such things alone t " 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


237 


My dear child, what do you expect ? Here is a whole 
class, — debased, uneducated, indolent, provoking, — put, 
without any sort of terms or conditions, entirely into the 
hands of such people as the majority in our world are ; 
people who have neither consideration nor self-control, who 
haven^t even an enlightened regard to their own interest, 
— for that’s the case with the largest half of mankind. Of 
course, in a community so organized, what can a man of 
honorable and humane feelings do, but shut his eyes all he 
can, and harden his heart ? I can’t buy every poor wretch 
I see. I can’t turn knight-errant, and undertake to redress 
every individual case of wrong in such a city as this. The 
most I can do is to try and keep out of the way of it.” 

St. Clare’s fine countenance was for a moment overcast ; 
he looked annoyed, but suddenly calling up a gay smile, 
he said. 

Come, cousin, don’t stand there looking like one of 
the Fates ; you’ve only seen a peep through the curtain, — 
a specimen of what is going on, the world over, in some 
shape or other. If we are to be prying and spying into 
all the dismals of life, we should have no heart to any- 
thing. ’Tis like looking too close into the details of 
Dinah’s kitchen ; ” and St. Clare lay back on the sofa, and 
busied himself with his paper. 

Miss Ophelia sat down, and pulled out her knitting- work, 
and sat there grim with indignation. She knit and knit, 
but while she mused the fire burned ; at last she broke 
out — 

I tell you, Augustine, I can’t get over things so, if 
you can. It’s a perfect abomination for you to defend 
such a system, — that’s my mind ! ” 

What now ? ” said St. Clare, looking up. At it 
again, hey ? ” 

^‘1 say it’s perfectly abominable for you to defend such 
a system ! ” said Miss Ophelia, with increasing warmth. 

I defend it, my dear lady ? Who ever said I did de- 
fend it ? ” said St. Clare. 

Of course, you defend it, — you all do, — all you South- 
erners. What do you have slaves for, if you don’t ?” 

Are you such a sweet innocent as to suppose nobody in 
this world ever does what they don’t think is right ? Don’t 
you, or didn’t you ever, do anything that you did not think 
quite right 


238 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


If I do, I repent of it, I hope,^^ said Miss Ophelia, rat* 
tling her needles with energy. 

So do 1 ” said St. Clare, peeling his orange; 
repenting of it all the time.^^ 

What do you keep on doing it for 

Didn’t you ever keep on doing wrong, after you’d 
repented, my good cousin r ” 

‘‘^Well, only when Fve been very much tempted,” said 
Miss Ophelia. 

Well, Fm very much tempted,” said St. Clare ; that’s 
just m'y difficulty.” 

But I always resolve I won’t, and I try to break off.” 
^^Well, I have been resolving I won’t, off and on, these 
ten years,” said St. Clare ; ^^but I haven’t, somehow, got 
clear. Have you got clear of all your sins, cousin ? ” 

Cousin Augustine,” said Miss Ophelia, seriously, and 
laying down her knitting-work, I suppose I deserve that 
you should reprove my shortcomings. I know all you say 
is true enough ; nobody else feels them more than I do ; 
but it does seem to me, after all, there is some difference 
between me and you. It seems to me I would cut off my 
right hand sooner than keep on, from day to day, doing 
what I thought was wrong. But, then, my conduct is so 
inconsistent with my profession, I don’t wonder you reprove 
me.” 

0, now, cousin,” said Augustine, sitting down on the 
floor, and laying his head back in her lap, don’t take on 
so awfully serious ! You know what a good-for-nothing, 
saucy boy I always was. I love to poke you up, — that’s all, 
— just to see you get earnest. I do think you are desper- 
ately, distressingly good ; it tires me to death to think of 
it.” 

But this is a serious subject, my boy, Auguste,” said 
Miss Ophelia, laying her hand on his forehead. 

Dismally so,” said he ; and I — well, I never want to 
talk seriously in hot weather. What with mosquitoes and 
all, a fellow can’t get himself up to any very sublime moral 
flights ; and, I believe,” said St. Clare, suddenly rousing 
himself up, there’s a theory now! I understand now 
why northern nations are always more virtuous than south- 
ern ones, — I see into that whole subject.” 

0 Auguste, you are a sad rattle-brain ! ” 

Am I ? Well, so I am, I suppose ; but for once I will 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


239 


be serious, now ; but you must hand me that basket of 
oranges ; — you see, you^ll have to ^ stay me with flagons and 
comfort me with apples,'’ if Fm going to make this effort. 
ISTow,^" said Augustine, drawing the basket up, Fll begin : 
When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary 
for a fellow to hold two or three dozen of his fellow-worms 
in captivity, a decent regard to the opinions of society 
requires ” 

‘‘1 don^’t see that you are growing more serious, said 
Miss Ophelia. 

Wait, — Fm coming on, — youfll hear. The short of the 
matter is, cousin,^^ said he, his handsome face suddenly 
settling into an earnest and serious expression, on this 
abstract question of slavery there can, as I think, be but 
one opinion. Planters, who have money to make by it, — 
clergymen, who have planters to please, — politicians, who 
want to rule by it, — may warp and bend language and 
ethics to a degree that shall astonish the world at their in- 
genuity ; they can press nature and the Bible, and nobody 
knows what else, into the service ; but, after all, neither 
they nor the world believe in it one particle the more. It 
comes from the devil, thaFs the short of it ; — and, to my 
mind, iFs a pretty respectable specimen of what he can do 
in his own line.” 

Miss Ophelia stopped her knitting, and looked surprised ; 
and St. Clare, apparently enjoying her astonishment, 
went on. 

You seem to wonder ; but if you will get me fairly at 
it, Ifll make a clean breast of it. This cursed business, 
accursed of God and man, what is it ? Strip it of all its 
ornament, run it down to the root and nucleus of the whole, 
and what is it ? Why, because my brother Quashy is igno- 
rant and weak, and I am intelligent and strong, — because I 
know how, and can do it, — therefore, I may steal all he has, 
keep it, and give him only such and so much as suits my 
fancy. Whatever is too hard, too dirty, too disagreeable, 
for me, I may set Quashy to doing. Because I donT like 
work, Quashy shall work. Because the sun burns me, 
Quashy shall stay in the sun. Quashy shall earn the money, 
and I will spend it. Quashy shall lie down in every pud- 
dle, that I may walk over dry-shod. Quashy shall do my 
will, and not his, all the days of his mortal life, and have 
such chance of getting to heaven, at last, as I find conven- 


240 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


ient. This I take to be about what slavery is. I defy any. 
body on earth to read our slave-code, as it stands in our law- 
books, and make anything else of it. Talk of the abuses of 
slavery ! Humbug ! The thing itself is the essence of all 
abuse ! And the only reason why the land donT sink under 
it, like Sodom and Gomorrah, is because it is used in a way 
infinitely better than it is. For pity^’s sake, for shame^’s 
sake, because we are men born of women, and not savage 
beasts, many of us do not, and dare not, — we \vould scorn 
to use the full power which our savage laws 2)ut into our 
hands. And he who goes the furthest, and does the worst, 
only uses within limits the power that the law gives him." 

St. Clare had started up, and, as his manner was when 
excited, was walking, with hurried steps, up and down the 
floor. His fine face, classic as that of a Greek statue, 
seemed actually to burn with the fervor of his feelings. 
His large blue eyes flashed, and he gestured with an uncon- 
scious eagerness. Miss Ophelia had never seen him in this 
mood before, and she sat perfectly silent. 

I declare to you," said he, suddenly stopping before his 
cousin (iVs no sort of use to talk or to feel on this sub- 
ject), but I declare to you, there have been times when I 
have thought, if the whole country would sink, and hide 
all this injustice and misery from the light, I would will- 
ingly sink with it. When I have been travelling up and 
down on our boats, or about on my collecting tours, and 
reflected that every brutal, disgusting, mean, low-lived 
fellow I met, was allowed by our laws to become absolute 
despot of as many men, women, and children, as he could 
cheat, steal, or gamble money enough to buy, — when I have 
seen such men in actual ownership of helpless children, of 
young girls and women, — I have been ready to curse my 
country, to curse the human race !" 

Augustine ! Augustine ! " said Miss Ophelia, I’m 
sure you’ve said enough. I never, in my life, heard any- 
thing like this, even at the North." 

At the North ! " said St. Clare, with a sudden change 
of expression, and resuming something of his habitual 
careless tone. Pooh ! your northern folks are cold- 
blooded ; you are cool in everything ! You can’t begin 
to curse up hill and down as we can, when we get fairh 
at it." 

Well, but the question is " said Miss Ophelia. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


241 


0, yes, to be sure, the question is, — and a deuce of a 
question it is ! How came you in this state of sin and 
misery ? Well, I shall answer in the good old words you 
used to teach me, Sundays. I came so by ordinary genera- 
tion. My servants were my father's and, what is more, 
my mother's, and now they are mine, they and their in- 
crease, which bids fair to be a pretty considerable item. 
My father, you know, came first from New England ; and 
he was just such another man as your father, — a regular 
old Eoman, — upright, energetic, noble-minded, with an 
iron will. Your father settled down in New England, to 
rule over rocks and stones, and to force an existence out 
of Nature ; and mine settled in Louisiana, to rule over 
men and women, and force existence out of them. My 
mother," said St. Clare, getting up and walking to a pict- 
ure at the end of the room, and gazing upward with a 
face fervent with veneration, she was divine ! Don't 
look at me so ! — you know what I mean ! She probably 
was of mortal birth ; but, as far as ever I could observe, 
there was no trace of any human weakness or error about 
her : and everybody that lives to remember her, whether 
bond or free, servant, acquaintance, relation, all say the 
same. Why, cousin, that mother has been all that has 
stood between me and utter unbelief for years. She was 
a direct embodiment and personification of the New Testa- 
ment, — a living fact, to be accounted for, and to be ac- 
counted for in no other way than by its truth. 0 mother, 
mother ! " said St. Clare, clasping his hands, in a sort of 
transport ; and then suddenly checking himself, he came 
back, and seating himself on an ottoman, he went on : 

My brother and I were twins ; and they say, you know, 
that twins ought to resemble each other ; but we were in 
all points a contrast. He had black fiery eyes, coal-black 
hair, a strong fine Roman profile, and a rich brown com- 
plexion. I had blue eyes, golden hair, a Greek outline, 
and a fair complexion. He was active and observing, I 
dreamy and inactive. He was generous to his friends and 
equals, but proud, dominant, overbearing, to inferiors, and 
utterly unmerciful to whatever set itself up against him. 
Truthful we both were ; he from pride and courage, I 
from a sort of abstract ideality. We loved each other 
about as boys generally do, — ofi and on, and in general 
he was my father's pet, and I my mother's. 

i6 


242 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


There was a morbid sensitiveness and acuteness of feel- 
ing in me on all possible subjects, of which he and my 
father had no kind of understanding, and with which they 
could have no possible sympathy. But mother did ; and 
so, when I had quarrelled with Alfred, and father looked 
sternly on me, I used to go off to mother’s room, and sit 
by her. I remember just how she used to look, with her 
pale cheeks, her deep, soft, serious eyes, her white dress, — 
she always wore white ; and I used to think of her when- 
ever I read in Revelations about the saints that were ar- 
rayed in fine linen, clean and white. She had a great deal 
of genius of one sort and another, particularly in music ; 
and she used to sit at her organ, playing fine old majestic 
music of the Catholic Church, and singing with a voice 
more like an angel than a mortal woman ; and I would lay 
my head down on her lap, and cry, and dream, and feel, 
— oh, immeasurably ! — things that I had no language to 
say ! 

In those days, this matter of slavery had never been 
canvassed as it has now ; nobody dreamed of any harm 
in it. 

My father was a born aristocrat. I think, in some 
pre-existent state, he must have been in the higher circles 
of spirits, and brought all his old court pride along with 
him ; for it was ingrain, bred in the bone, though he was 
originally of poor and not in any way of noble family. My 
brother was begotten in his image. 

Now, an aristocrat, you know, the world over, has no 
human sympathies, beyond a certain line in society. In 
England the line is in one place, in Burmah in another, 
and in America in another ; but the aristocrat of all these 
countries never goes over it. What would be hardship 
and distress and injustice in his own class, is a cool matter 
of course in another one. My father’s dividing line was 
that of color. Among Ms equals, never was a man more 
just and generous ; but he considered the negro, through 
all possible gradations of color, as an intermediate link 
between man and animals, and graded all his ideas of jus- 
tice or generosity on this hypothesis. I suppose, to be 
sure, if anybody had asked him, plump and fair, whether 
they had human, immortal souls, he might have hemmed 
and hawed, and said yes. But my father was not a man 
much troubled with spiritualism; religious sentiment he 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


243 


had none, beyond a veneration for God, as decidedly the 
head of the upper classes. 

‘‘Well, my father worked some five hundred negroes; 
he was an inflexible, driving, punctilious business man ; 
everything was to move by system, — to be sustained with 
unfailing accuracy and precision. Now, if you take into 
account that all this was to be worked out by a set of lazy, 
twaddling, shiftless laborers, who had grown up, all their 
lives, in the absence of every possible motive to learn how 
to do anything but ‘shirk,^ as you Vermonters say, and 
youfil see that there might naturally be, on his plantation, 
a great many things that looked horrible and distressing 
to a sensitive child like me. 

“Besides all, he had an overseer, — a great, tall, slab- 
sided, two-fisted renegade son of Vermont — (begging your 
pardon), — who had gone through a regular apprenticeship 
in hardness and brutality, and taken his degree to be ad- 
mitted to practice. My mother never could endure him, 
nor I ; but he obtained an entire ascendency over my father ; 
and this man was the absolute despot of the estate. 

“ I was a little fellow then, but I had the same love that 
I have now for all kinds of human things, — a kind of pas- 
sion for the study of humanity, come in what shape it 
would. I was found in the cabins and among the field- 
hands a great deal, and, of course, was a great favorite ; 
and all sorts of complaints and grievances were breathed in 
my ear ; and I told them to mother, and we, between us, 
formed a sort of committee for a redress of grievances. We 
hindered and repressed a great deal of cruelty, and con- 
gratulated ourselves in doing a vast deal of good, till, as 
often happens, my zeal overacted. Stubbs complained 
to my father that he couldn^t manage the hands, and must 
resign his position. Bather was a fond, indulgent husband, 
but a man that never flinched from anything that he 
thought necessary ; and so he put down his foot, like a rock, 
between us and the field-hands. He told my mother, in 
language perfectly respectful and deferential, but quite ex- 
plicit, that over the house-servants she should be entire 
mistress, but that with the field-hands he could allow no 
interference. He revered and respected her above all living 
beings ; but he would have said it all the same to the Virgin 
Mary herself, if she had come in the way of his system. 

“ I used sometimes to hear my mother reasoning cases 


244 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


with him, — endeavoring to excite his sympathies. He 
would listen to the most pathetic appeals with the most 
discouraging politeness and equanimity. ^ It all resolves 
itself into this/ he would say ; ^ must I part with Stubbs, 
or keep him ? Stubbs is the soul of punctuality, honesty, 
and efficiency, — a thorough business hand, and as humane 
as the general run. We can’t have perfection ; and if I 
keep him, I must sustain his administration as a wTiole, 
even if there are, now and then, things that are exception- 
able. All government includes some necessary hardness. 
General rules will bear hard on particular cases.’ This 
last maxim my father seemed to consider a settler in most 
alleged cases of cruelty. After he had said that, he com- 
monly drew up his feet on the sofa, like a man that has 
disposed of a business, and betook himself to a nap, or the 
newspaper, as the case might be. 

The fact is, my father showed the exact sort of talent 
for a statesman. He could have divided Poland as easily 
as an orange, or trod on Ireland as quietly and systemati- 
cally as any man living. At last my mother gave up, in 
despair. It never will be known, till the last account, 
what noble and sensitive natures like hers have felt, cast, 
utterly helpless, into what seems to them an abyss of in- 
justice and cruelty, and which seems so to nobody about 
them. It has been an age of long sorrow of such natures, 
in such a hell-begotten sort of world as ours. What re- 
mained for her, but to train her children in her own views 
and sentiments ? Well, after all you say about training, 
children will grow up substantially what they are by nat- 
ure, and only that. From the cradle, Alfred was an aris- 
tocrat ; and as he grew up, instinctively, all his sympa- 
thies and all his reasonings were in that line, and all 
mother’s exhortations went to the winds. As to me, they 
sunk deep into me. She never contradicted, in form, any- 
thing that my father said, or seemed directly to differ 
from him ; but she impressed, burnt into my very soul, 
with all the force of her deep, earnest nature, an idea of 
the dignity and worth of the meanest human soul. I have 
looked in her face with solemn awe, when she would point 
up to the stars in the evening, and say to me, ^ See there, 
Auguste ! the poorest, meanest soul on our place will be 
living, when all these stars are gone forever, — will live as 
long as God lives ! ’ 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


245 


She had some fine old paintings ; one, in particular, 
of Jesus healing a blind man. They were very fine, and 
used to impress me strongly. ‘ See there, Auguste,' she 
would say ; ^ the blind man was a beggar, poor and loath- 
some ; therefore. He would not heal him afar off! He 
called him to Him, and put Ilis hands on him I Eemember 
this, my boy.' If I had lived to grow up under her care, 
she might have stimulated me to I know not what of en- 
thusiasm. I might have been a saint, reformer, martyr, 
— but, alas ! alas ! I went from her when I was only thir- 
teen, and I never saw her again ! " 

St. Clare rested his head on his hands, and did not speak 
for some minutes. After a while, he looked up, and went 
on : 

^‘^What poor, mean trash this whole business of human 
virtue is ! A mere matter, for the most part, of latitude 
and longitude, and geograj)hical position, acting with nat- 
ural temperament. The greater part is nothing hut an 
accident ! Your father, for example, settles in Vermont, 
in a town where all are, in fact, free and equal ; becomes 
a regular church member and deacon, and in due time 
joins an Abolition society, and thinks us all little better 
than heathens. Yet he is, for all the world, in constitu- 
tion and habit, a duplicate of my father. I can see it leak- 
ing out in fifty different ways, — just that same strong, over- 
hearing, dominant spirit. You know very well how im- 
possible it is to persuade some of the folks in your village 
that Squire Sinclair does not feel above them. The fact 
is, though he has fallen on democratic times, and embraced 
a democratic theory, he is to the heart an aristocrat, as 
much as my father, who ruled over five or six hundred 
slaves.” 

Miss Ophelia felt rather disposed to cavil at this picture, 
and was laying down her knitting to begin, hut St. Clare 
stopped her. 

‘^‘^How, I know every word you are going to say. I 
do not say they were alike, in fact. One fell into a con- 
dition where everything acted against the natural tendency, 
and the other where everything acted for it ; and so one 
turned out a pretty wilful, stout, overhearing old demo- 
crat, and the other a wilful, stout, old despot. If both had 
owned plantations in Louisiana, they would have been as 
like as two old bullets cast in the same mould.” 


246 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


What an nndntiful boy you are ! ” said Miss Ophelia, 
don^t mean them any disrespect/^ said St. Clare. 

You know reverence is not my forte. But, to go back 
to my history : 

'^When father died, he left the whole property to us 
twin boys, to he divided as we should agree. There does 
not breathe on God^s earth a nobler-souled, more generous 
fellow, than Alfred, in all that concerns his equals ; and 
we got on admirably with this property question, without 
a single unbrotherly word or feeling. AVe undertook to 
work the plantation together ; and Alfred, whose outward 
life and capabilities had double the stren^h of mine, be- 
came an enthusiastic planter, and a wonderfully successful 
one. 

But two years^ trial satisfied me that I could not be a 

E artner in that matter. To have a great gang of seven 
undred, whom I could not know personally, or feel any 
individual interest in, bought and driven, housed, fed, 
worked like so many horned cattle, strained up to military 
precision, — the question of how little of life’s commonest 
enjoyments would keep them in working order being a 
constantly recurring problem, — the necessity of drivers and 
overseers, — the ever-necessary whip, first, last, and only 
argument, — the whole thing was insufferably disgusting 
and loathsome to me ; and when I thought of my mother’s 
estimate of one poor human soul, it became even fright- 
ful ! 

It’s all nonsense to talk to me about slaves enjoying 2A\. 
this ! To this day, I have no patience with the unutter- 
able trash that some of your patronizing Northerners have 
made up, as in their zeal to apologize for our sins. AYe 
all know better. Tell me that any man living wants to 
work all his days, from day-dawn till dark, under the con- 
constant eye of a master, without the power of putting 
forth one irresponsible volition, on the same dreary, monot- 
onous, unchanging toil, and all for two pairs of pantaloons 
and a pair of shoes a year, with enough food and shelter 
to keep him in working order ! Any man who thinks that 
human beings can, as a general thing, be made about as 
comfortable that way as any other, I wish he might try 
it. I’d buy the dog, and work him, with a clear con- 
science ! ” 

I always have supposed,” said Miss Ophelia, that 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 247 

you, all of you, approved of these things, and thought 
them right , — according to Scripture/^ 

Humbug ! We are not quite reduced to that yet. 
Alfred, who is as determined a despot as ever walked, does 
not pretend to this kind of defence ; — no, he stands, high 
and haughty, on that good old respectable ground, the 
right of the strongest ; and he says, and I think quite sen- 
sibly, that the American planter is only doing, in another 
form, what the English aristocracy and capitalists are 
doing by the lower classes ; ^ that is, I take it, appropriat- 
ing them, body and bone, soul and spirit, to their use and 
convenience. He defends both, — and, I think, at least, 
consistently. He says that there can be no high civiliza- 
tion without enslavement of the masses, either nominal or 
real. There must, he says, be a lower class, given up to 
physical toil and confined to an animal nature ; and a 
higher one thereby acquires leisure and wealth for a 
more expanded intelligence and improvement, and becomes 
the directing soul of the lower. So he reasons, because, as I 
said, he is born an aristocrat ; — so I donT believe, because 
I was born a democrat.” 

How in the world can the two things be compared ? ” 
said Miss Ophelia. The English laborer is not sold, 
traded, parted from his family, whipped.” 

He is as much at the will of his employer as if he were 
sold to him. The slave-owner can whip his refractory 
slave to death, — the capitalist can starve him to death. 
As to family security, it is hard to say which is the worst, 
— to have one^s children sold, or see them starve to death 
at home.” 

But it^s no kind of apology for slavery, to prove that 
it isnT worse than some other bad thing.” 

I didn’t give it for one, — nay. I’ll say, besides, that 
ours is the more bold and palpable infringement of human 
rights ; actually buying a man up, like a horse, — looking 
at his teeth, cracking his joints, and trying his paces, and 
then paying down for him, — having speculators, breeders, 
traders, and brokers in human bodies and souls, — sets the 
thing before the eyes of the civilized world in a more tan- 
gible form, though the thing done be, after all, in its 
nature, the same ; that is, appropriating one set of human 
beings to the use and improvement of another, without 
any regard to their own.” 


248 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


I never thought of the matter in this light/^ said Miss 
Ophelia. 

^‘^Well, Fve travelled in England some, and Eve looked 
over a good many documents as to the state of their lower 
classes ; and I really think there is no denying Alfred, 
when he says that his slaves are better otf than a large class 
of the population of England. You see, you must not 
infer, from what I have told you, that Alfred is what is 
called a hard master ; for he isn^’t. He is despotic, and 
unmerciful to insubordination ; he would shoot a fellow 
down with as little remorse as he would shoot a buck, if 
he opposed him. But, in general, he takes a sort of 
pride in having his slaves comfortably fed and accom- 
modated. 

“When I was with him, I insisted that he should do 
something for their instruction ; and, to please me, he did 
get a chaplain, and used to have them catechized Sunday, 
though, I believe, in his heart, that he thought it would 
do about as much good to set a chaplain over his dogs and 
horses. And the fact is, that a mind stupefied and ani- 
malized by every bad influence from the hour of birth, 
spending the whole of every week-day in unreflecting toil, 
cannot be done much with by a few hours on Sunday. 
The teachers of Sunday-schools among the manufacturing 
population of England, and among plantation-hands in 
our country, could perhaps testify to the same result, 
there and here. Yet some striking exceptions there are 
among us, from the fact that the negro is naturally more 
impressible to religious sentiment than the white. 

“ Well,’^ said Miss Ophelia, “how came you to give up 
your plantation life ? 

“ Well, we jogged on together some time, till Alfred 
saw plainly that I was no planter. He thought it absurd, 
after he had reformed, and altered, and improved every- 
where, to suit my notions, that I still remained unsatisfied. 
The fact was, it was, after all, the thikg that I hated, — 
the using these men and women, the perpetuation of all 
this ignorance, brutality, and vice, — just to make money 
for me ! 

“ Besides, I was always interfering in the details. Being 
myself one of the laziest of mortals, I had altogether too 
much fellow-feeling for the lazy ; and when the poor, shifh 
less dogs put stones at the bottom of their cotton-baskets to 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


249 


make them weigh heavier, or filled their sacks with dirt 
with cotton at the top, it seemed so exactly like what I 
should do if I were they, I couldn’t and wouldn’t have 
them flogged for it. Well, of course, there was an end of 
plantation discipline ; and Alf and I came to about the 
same point that I and my respected father did, years be- 
fore. So he told me that I was a womanish sentimentalist, 
and would never do for business life ; and advised me to 
take the hank-stock and the New Orleans family mansion, 
and go to writing poetry, and let him manage the planta- 
tion. So we parted, and I came here.” 

But why didn’t you free your slaves ?” 

Well, I wasn’t up to that. To hold them as tools for 
money-making, I could not ; — have them to help spend 
money, you know, didn’t look quite so ugly to me. Some 
of them were old house-servants, to whom I was much 
attached ; and the younger ones were children to the old. 
All were well satisfied to he as they were.” He paused, 
and walked reflectively up and down the room. 

There was,” said St. Clare, “'a time in my life when 
I had plans and hopes of doing something in this world, 
more than to float and drift. I had vague, indistinct 
' " ' f emancipator, — to free my native 



stain. All young men have had 


such fever-fits, I suppose, some time, — but then ” 

Why didn’t you ? ” said Miss Ophelia ; — you ought 
not to put your hand to the plough, and look hack.” 

0, well, things didn’t go with me as I expected, and I 
got the despair of living that Solomon did. I suppose it 
was a necessary incident to wisdom in us both ; but, some- 
how or other, instead of being actor and regenerator in 
society, I became a piece of driftwood, and have been float- 
ing and eddying about, ever since. Alfred scolds me, 
every time we meet ; and he has the better of me, I grant, 
— for he really does something ; his life is a logical result 
of his opinions, and mine is a contemptible non sequitur.” 

My dear cousin, can you be satisfied with such a way 
of spending your probation ? ” 

Satisfied ! Was I not just telling you I despised it ? 
But, then, to come back to this point, — we were on this 
liberation business. I don’t think my feelings about 
slavery are peculiar. I find many men who, in their 
hearts, think of it just as I do. The land groans under it ; 


250 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


and, bad as it is for the slave, it is worse, if anything, foi 
the master. It takes no spectacles to see that a great class 
of vicious, improvident, degraded people, among us, are 
an evil to us, as well as to themselves. The capitalist and 
aristocrat of England cannot feel that as we do, because 
they do not mingle with the class they degrade as we do. 
They are in our houses ; they are the associates of our chil- 
dren, and they form their minds faster than we can ; for 
they are a race that children always will cling to and assimi- 
late with. If Eva, now, was not more angel than ordinary, 
she would be ruined. We might as well allow the small- 
pox to run among them, and think our children would not 
take it, as to let them be uninstructed and vicious, and 
think our children will not be affected by that. Yet our 
laws positively and utterly forbid any efficient general 
educational system, and they do it wisely, too ; for, just 
begin and thoroughly educate one generation, and the 
whole thing would be blown sky high. If we did not give 
them liberty, they would take it.^^ 

And what do you think will be the end of this ? ” said 
Miss Ophelia. 

I donT know. One thing is certain, — that there is a 
mustering among the masses, the world over ; and there is 
a dies irm coming on, sooner or later. The same thing is 
working in Europe, in England, and in this country. My 
mother used to tell me of a millennium that was coming, 
when Christ should reign, and all men should be free and 
happy. And she taught me, when I was a boy, to pray, 
^ Thy kingdom come.'’ Sometimes I think all this sigh- 
ing, and groaning, and stirring among the dry bones fore- 
tells what she used to tell me was coming. But who may 
abide the day of His appearing ? 

Augustine, sometimes I think you are not far from 
the kingdom, said Miss Ophelia, laying down her knitting, 
and looking anxiously at her cousin. 

Thank you for your good opinion ; but it’s up and 
down with me, — up to heaven’s gate in theory, down in 
earth’s dust in practice. But there’s the tea-bell, — do let’s 
go, — and don’t say, now, I haven’t had one downright 
serious talk, for once in my life.” 

At table, Marie alluded to the incident of Prue. I 
suppose you’ll think, cousin,” she said, that we are ah 
barbarians.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


251 


I think that^s a barbarous tbing/^ said Miss Ophelia, 
^^but I don^t think you are all barbarians/^ 

“ Well, now,^^ said Marie, I know it’s impossible to get 
along with some of these creatures. They are so bad they 
ought not to live. I donT feel a particle of sympathy for 
such cases. If they^d only behave themselves, it would not 
happen.” 

‘‘But, mamma,” said Eva, “the poor creature was 
unhappy ; that’s what made her drink.” 

“ 0, fiddlestick ! as if that were any excuse ! Fm un- 
happy, very often. I presume,” she said, pensively, “ that 
I’ve had greater trials than ever she had. It’s just because 
they are so bad. There’s some of them that you cannot 
break in by any kind of severity. I remember father had 
a man that was so lazy he would run away just to get rid 
of work, and lie round in the swamps, stealing and doing 
all sorts of horrid things. That man was caught and 
whipped, time and again, and it never did him any 
good ; and the last time he crawled off, though he couldn’t 
but just go, and died in the swamp. There was no sort 
of reason for it, for father’s hands were always treated 
kindly.” 

“ I broke a fellow in, once,” said St. Clare, “ that all 
the overseers and masters had tried their hands on in vain.” 

“ You ! ” said Marie ; “well. I’d be glad to know when 
you ever did anything of the sort.” 

“Well, he was a powerful, gigantic fellow, — a native- 
born African ; and he appeared to have the rude instinct 
of freedom in him to an uncommon degree. He was a 
regular African lion. They called him Scipio. Nobody 
could do anything with him ; and he was sold round from 
overseer to overseer, till at last Alfred bought him, because 
he thought he could manage him. Well, one day he 
knocked down the overseer, and was fairly ofi into the 
swamps. I was on a visit to Alf’s plantation, for it was 
after we had dissolved partnership. Alfred was greatly 
exasperated ; but I told him that it was his own fault, 
and laid him any wager that I could break the man ; and 
finally it was agreed that, if I caught him, I should have 
him to experiment on. So they mustered out a party of 
some six or seven, with guns and dogs, for the hunt. 
People, you know, can get up just as much enthusiasm in 
hunting a man as a deer, if it is only customary ; in fact, I 


252 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


got a little excited myself, though I had only put in as a 
sort of mediator, in case he was caught. 

^^Well, the dogs bayed and howled, and we rode and 
scampered, and finally we started him. He ran and 
bounded like a buck, and kept us well in the rear for some 
time ; but at last he got caught in an impenetrable thicket 
of cane ; then he turned to bay, and I tell you he fought 
the dogs right gallantly. He dashed them to right and 
left, and actually killed three of them with only his 
naked fists, when a shot from a gun brought him down, 
and he fell, wounded and bleeding, almost at my feet. 
The poor fellow looked up at me with manhood and de- 
spair both in his eye. I kept back the dogs and the party, 
as they came pressing up, and claimed him as my prisoner. 
It was all I could do to keep them from shooting him, in 
the flush of success ; but I persisted in my bargain, and 
Alfred sold him to me. Well, I took him in hand, and in 
one fortnight I had him tamed down as submissive and 
tractable as heart could desire. 

What in the world did you do to him said Marie. 

Well, it was quite a simple process. I took him to my 
own room, had a good bed made for him, dressed his 
wounds, and tended him myself, until he got fairly on his 
feet again. And, in process of time, I had free papers 
made out for him, and told him he might go where he 
liked. 

And did he go ? said Miss Ophelia. 

The foolish fellow tore the paper in two, and 
absolutely refused to leave me. I never had a braver, better 
fellow, — trusty and true as steel. He embraced Christianity 
afterwards, and became as gentle as a child. He used to 
oversee my place on the lake, and did it capitally, too. I 
lost him the first cholera season. In fact, he laid down his 
life for me. For I was sick, almost to death ; and when, 
through the panic, everybody else fled, Scipio worked for 
me like a giant, and actually brought me back into life 
again. But, poor fellow ! he was taken, right after, and 
there was no saving him. I never felt anybody's loss more.^^ 
Eva had come gradually nearer and nearer to her father, 
as he told the story, — her small lips apart, her eyes wide 
and earnest with absorbing interest. 

As he finished, she suddenly threw her arms around his 
neck, burst into tears, and sobbed convulsively. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


253 


Eva, dear child ! what is the matter ? said St. Clare, 
as the child^s small frame trembled and shook with the 
violence of her feelings. This child,'" he added, ought 
not to hear any of this kind of thing, — she's nervous." 

]^o, papa, Tm not nervous," said Eva, controlling her- 
self, suddenly, with a strength of resolution singular in 
such a child. ^'I'm not nervous, but these things sink 
in'i heart.” 



What do you mean, Eva ?" 

I can't tell you, papa. I think a great many thoughts. 
Perhaps some day I shall tell you." 

^^Well, think away, dear, — only don't cry and worry 
your papa," said St. Clare. ^^Look here, — see what a 
beautiful peach I have got for you ! " 

Eva took it, and smiled, though there was still a nervous 
twitching about the corners of her mouth. 

Como, look at the gold-fish," said St. Clare, taking her 
hand and stepping on to the verandah. A few moments, 
and merry laughs were heard through the silken curtains, 
as Eva and St. Clare were pelting each other with roses, 
and chasing each other among the alleys of the court. 


There is danger that our humble friend Tom be neglected 
amid the adventures of the higher born ; but, if our readers 
will accompany us up to a little loft over the stable, they 
may, perhaps, learn a little of his affairs. It was a decent 
room, containing a bed, a chair, and a small, rough stand, 
where lay Tom's Bible and hymn-book ; and where he sits, 
at present, with his slate before him, intent on something 
that seems to cost him a great deal of anxious thought. 

The fact was, that Tom's home-yearnings had become so 
strong, that he had begged a sheet of writing-paper of Eva, 
and, mustering up all his small stock of literary attainment 
acquired by Mas'r George's instructions, he conceived the 
bold idea of writing a letter ; and he was busy now, on his 
slate, getting out his first draft. Tom was in a good deal 
of trouble, for the forms of some of the letters he had for- 
gotten entirely ; and of what he did remember, he did not 
know exactly which to use. And while he was working, 
and breathing very hard, in his earnestness, Eva alighted, 
like a bird, on the round of his chair behind him, and 
peeped over his shoulder. 


254 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


0, Uncle Tom ! what funny things you are making, 
there ? 

Fm trying to write to my poor old woman. Miss Eva, 
and my little chiFen,^^ said Tom, drawing the back of his 
hand over his eyes ; but, somehow, I"m feard I shan^t 
make it out/^ 

I wish I could help you, Tom ! IVe learnt to write 
some. Last year I could make all the letters, but I’m 
afraid Fve forgotten.” 

So Eva put her little golden head close to his, and the 
two commenced a grave and anxious discussion, each one 
equally earnest, and about equally ignorant ; and, with a 
deal of consulting and advising over every word, the com- 
position began, as they both felt very sanguine, to look 
quite like writing. 

Yes, Uncle Tom, it really begins to look beautiful,” 
said Eva, gazing delightedly on it. How pleased your 
wife’ll be, and the poor little children ! 0, it’s a shame 

you ever had to go away from them ! I mean to ask papa 
to let you go back, some time.” 

Missis said that she would send down money for me, as 
soon as they could get it together,” said Tom. I’m ’spectin’ 
she will. Young Mas’r George, he said he’d come for me ; 
and he gave me this yer dollar as a sign ; ” and Tom drew 
from under his clothes the precious dollar. 

^^0, he’ll certainly come, then ! ” said Eva. I’m so glad ! ” 

And I wanted to send a letter, you know, to let ’em 
know whar I was, and tell poor Chloe that I was well off, 
— ^’cause she felt so drefful, poor soul ! ” 

I say, Tom ! ” said St. Clare’s voice, coming in the 
door at this moment. 

Tom and Eva both started. 

What’s here ? ” said St. Clare, coming up and looking 
at the slate. 

0, it’s Tom’s letter. I’m helping him to write it,” 
said Eva ; isn’t it nice ? ” 

I wouldn’t discourage either of you,” said St. Clare, 
^^but I rather think, Tom, you’d better get me to write 
your letter for you. I’ll do it, when I come home from 
my ride.” 

It’s very important he should write,” said Eva, be- 
cause his mistress is going to send down money to redeem 
him, you know, papa ; he told me they told him so.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


255 


St. Clare thonght, in his heart, that this was probably 
only one of those things which good-natured owners say to 
their servants, to alleviate their horror of being sold, with- 
out any intention of fulfilling the expectation thus excited. 
But he did not make any audible comment upon it, — only 
ordered Tom to get the horses out for a ride. 

Tom^s letter was written in due form for him that even- 
ing, and safely lodged in the post-office. 

Miss Ophelia still persevered in her labors in the house- 
keeping line. It was universally agreed, among all the 
household, from Dinah down to the youngest urchin, that 
Miss Ophelia was decidedly curis,^'’ — a term by which a 
southern servant implies that his or her betters donT 
exactly suit them. 

The higher circle in the family — to-wit, Adolph, Jane, 
and Rosa — agreed that she was no lady ; ladies never kept 
working about as she did ; — that she had no air at all ; and 
they were surprised that she should be any relation of the 
St. Clares. Even Marie declared that it was absolutely 
fatiguing to see Cousin Ophelia always so busy. And, in 
fact. Miss Ophelia^s industry was so incessant as to lay 
some foundation for the complaint. She sewed and stitched 
away, from daylight till dark, with the energy of one who 
is pressed on by some immediate urgency ; and then, when 
the light faded, and the work was folded away, with one 
turn out came the ever-ready knitting-work, and there she 
was again, going -on as briskly as ever. It really was a 
labor to see her. 


CHAPTER XX. 

TOPSY. 

Oke morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of 
her domestic cares, St. Clarets voice was heard, calling her 
at the foot of the stairs. 

Come down here. Cousin ; Eve something to show 
you.^^ 

What is it said Miss Ophelia, coming down, with 
her sewing in her hand. 

Fv^ made a purchase for your department, — see here,^ 


256 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


said St. Clare ; and, with the word, he pulled along a little 
negro girl, about eight or nine years of age. 

She was one of the blackest of her race ; and her round, 
shining eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick 
and restless glances over everything in the room. Her 
mouth, half open with astonishment at the wonders of the 
new Maser's parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of 
teeth. Her woolly hair was braided in sundry little tails, 
which stuck out in every direction. The expression of her 
face was an odd mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over 
which was oddly drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression 
of the most doleful gravity and solemnity. She was 
dressed in a single filthy, ragged garment, made of bag- 
ging ; and stood with her hands demurely folded before 
her. Altogether, there was something odd and goblin-like 
about her appearance, — something, as Miss Ophelia after- 
wards said, ‘^‘ so heathenish, as to inspire that good lady 
with utter dismay ; and, turning to St. Clare, she said, 

Augustine, what in the world have you brought that 
thing here for ? ” 

For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way 
she should go. I thought she was rather a funny speci- 
men in the Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy,” he added, 
giving a whistle, as a man would to call the attention of a 
dog, ^^give us a song, now, and show us some of your 
dancing.-’^ 

The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked 
drollery, and the thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, 
an odd negro melody, to which she kept time with her 
hands and feet, spinning round, clapping her hands, knock- 
ing her knees together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and 
producing in her throat all those odd guttural sounds which 
distinguish the native music of her race ; and finally, turn- 
ing a summerset or two, and giving a prolonged closing 
note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam-whistle, she 
came suddenly down on the carpet, and stood with her 
hands folded, and a most sanctimonious expression of 
meekness and solemnity over her face, only broken by the 
cunning glances which she shot askance from the corners 
of her eyes. 

Miss Ophelia stood silent, perfectly paralyzed with 
amazement. 

St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared 



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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


257 


to enjoy her astonishment; and, addressing the child 
again, said, 

Topsy, this is your new mistress. Fm going to give 
you up to her : see now that you behave yourself. 

Yes, Mas^r,^^ said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, 
her wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke. 

You’re going to be good, Topsy, you understand,’^ 
said St. Clare. 

0 yes, Mas’r,” said Topsy, with another twinkle, her 
hands still devoutly folded. 

y Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for ?” said 
Miss Ophelia. ^^Your house is so full of these little 
plagues, now, that a body can’t set down their foot with- 
out treading on ’em. I get up in the morning, and find 
one asleep b^ehind the door, and see one black head poking 
out from under the table, one lying on the door-mat, — and 
they are mopping and mowing and grinning between all 
the railings, and tumbling over the kitchen fioor ! What 
on earth did you want to bring this one for ? ” 

For you to educate — didn’t I tell you ? You’re always 
preaching about educating. I thought I would make you 
a present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your 
hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go.” 

1 don’t want her, I am sure ; — I have more to do with 
’em now than I want to.” 

That’s you Christians, all over ! — you’ll get up a 
society, and get some poor missionary to spend all his days 
among just such heathen. But let me see one of you that 
would take one into your house with you, and take the 
labor of their conversion on yourselves ! No ; when it 
comes to that, they are dirty and disagreeable, and it’s too 
much care, and so on ” 

Augustine, you know I didn’t think of it in that light,” 
said Miss Ophelia, evidently softening. ^"Well, it might 
be a real missionary work,” said she, looking rather more 
favorably on the child. 

St. Clare had touched the right string. Miss Ophelia’s 
conscientiousness was ever on the alert. ^^But,” she 
added, I really didn’t see the need of buying this one ; 
— there are enough now, in your house, to take all my time 
and skill.” 

Well, then, cousin,” said St. Clare, drawing her aside, 

ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing 

17 


258 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


speeches. You are so good, after all, that there^s no sense 
in them. Why, the fact is, this concern belonged to a 
couple of drunken creatures that keep a low restaurant 
that I have to pass by every day, and I was tired of hear- 
ing her screaming, and them beating and swearing at her. 
She looked bright and funny, too, as if something might 
be made of her ; — so I bought her, and Fll give her to you. 
Try, now, and give her a good orthodox Yew England 
bringing up, and see what iFll make of her. You know 
I havenT any gift that way ; but Ed like you to try.^’ 

Well, I’ll do what I can,” said Miss Ophelia ; and she 
approached her new subject very much as a person might 
be supposed to approach a black spider, supposing them to 
have benevolent designs toward it. 

She’s dreadfully dirty, and half naked,” she said. 

Well, take her downstairs, and make some of them 
clean and clothe her up.” 

Miss Ophelia carried her to the kitchen regions. 

Don’t see what Mas’r St. Clare wants of ’nother 
nigger ! ” said Dinah, surveying the new arrival with no 
friendly air. Won’t have her round under my feet, 1 
know ! ” 

Pah ! ” said Kosa and Jane, with supreme disgust ; 
let her keep out of our way ! What in the world Mas’r 
wanted another of these low niggers for, I can’t see ! ” 

You go long ! Yo more nigger dan you be. Miss Eosa,” 
said Dinah, who felt this last remark a reflection on her- 
self. You seem to tink yourself white folks. You an’t 
nerry one, black nor white. I’d like to be one or turrer.” 

Miss Ophelia saw that there was nobody in the camp that 
would undertake to oversee the cleansing and dressing of 
the new arrival ; and so she was forced to do it herself, with 
some very ungracious and reluctant assistance from Jane. 

It is not for ears polite to hear the particulars of the first 
toilet of a neglected, abused child. In fact, in this world, 
multitudes must live and die in a state that it would be too 
great a shock to the nerves of their fellow-mortals even to hear 
described. Miss Ophelia had a good, strong, practical deal 
of resolution ; and she went through all the disgusting de- 
tails with heroic thoroughness, though it must be confessed 
with no very gracious air, — for endurance was the utmost 
to which her principles could bring her. When she saw, 
on the back and shoulders of the child, great welts and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


259 


calloused spots, ineffaceable marks of the system under 
which she had grown up thus far, her heart became pitiful 
within her. 

See there ! said Jane, pointing to the marks, don’t 
that show she’s a limb ? We’ll have fine works with 
her, I reckon. I hate these nigger young’uns ! so disgust- 
ing ! I wonder that Mas’r would buy her ! ” 

The ''young ’un” alluded to heard all these comments 
with a subdued and doleful air which seemed habitual to her, 
only scanning, with a keen and furtive glance of her flick- 
ering eyes, the ornaments which Jane wore in her ears. 

When arrayed, at last, in a suit of decent and whole cloth- 
ing, her hair cropped short to her head. Miss Ophelia, with 
some satisfaction, said she looked more Christianlike than 
she did, and in her own mind began to mature some plans 
for her instruction. 

Sitting down before her, she began to question her. 

" How old are you, Topsy ? ” 

" Dun no. Missis,” said the image, with a grin that 
showed all her teeth. 

" Don’t know how old you are ? Didn’t anybody evei 
tell you ? Who was your mother ? ” 

"Never had none !” said the child with another grin. 

" Never had any mother ? What do you mean ? Where 
were you born ? ” 

" Never was born ! ” persisted Topsy, with another grin, 
that looked so goblin-like, that, if Miss Ophelia had been at 
all nervous, she might have fancied that she had got hold of 
some sooty gnome from the land of Diablerie ; but Miss 
Ophelia was not nervous, but plain and business-like, and 
she said, with some sternness. 

"You mustn’t answer me in that way, child. I’m not 
playing with you. Tell me where you were born, and who 
your father and mother were.” 

" Never was born,” reiterated the creature, more emphat- 
ically ; " never had no father nor mother, nor nothin’. I was 
raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old .Aunt Sue 
used to take car on us.” 

The child was evidently sincere ; and Jane, breaking 
into a short laugh, said, 

" Laws, Missis, there’s heaps of ’em. Speculators buys 
’em up cheap, when they’s little, and gets ’em raised for 
market.” 


260 UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 

How long have you lived with your master and mis 
tress ? . 

“^Dun no. Missis/^ 

Is it a year, or more or less 

Dun no, Missis/'’ 

Laws, Missis, those low negroes, — they can't tell ; they 
don^t know anything about time,'’^ said Jane ; ^^they don^t 
know what a year is ; they don’t know their own ages.” 

Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy ? ” 

The child looked bewildered, hut grinned as usual. 

Do you know who made you ? ” 

Nobody, as I knows on,” said the child, with a short 
laugh. 

The idea appeared to amuse her considerably ; for her 
eyes twinkled, and she added, 

I spect I grow’d. Don’t think nobody never made me. ” 

Do you know how to sew?” said Miss Ophelia, who 
thought she would turn her inquiries to something more 
tangible. 

‘^No, Missis.” 

What can you do ? — what did you do for your master 
and mistress ? ” 

^^Eetch water, and wash dishes, and rub knives, and 
wait on folks.” 

Were they good to you ?” 

Spect they was,” said the child, scanning Miss Ophelia 
cunningly. 

Miss Ophelia rose from this encouraging colloquy ; St. 
Clare was leaning over the back of her chair. 

You find virgin soil there, cousin ; put in your own 
ideas, — you won’t find many to pull up.” 

Miss Ophelia’s ideas of education, like all her other ideas, 
were very set and definite ; and of the kind that prevailed 
in New England a century ago, and which are still pre- 
served in some very retired and unsophisticated parts, where 
there are no railroads. As nearly as could he expressed, 
they could he comprised in very few words : to teach them 
to mind when they were spoken to ; to teach them the cat- 
echism, sewing, and reading ; and to whip them if they 
told lies* And though, of course, in the fiood of light 
that is now poured on education, these are left far away in 
the rear, yet it is an undisputed fact that our grandmoth- 
ers raised some tolerably fair men and women under this 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


2G1 


regime, as many of us can remember and testify. At all 
events. Miss Ophelia knew of nothing else to do ; and, 
therefore, applied her mind to her heathen with the best 
diligence she could command. 

The child was announced and considered in the family 
as Miss Ophelia^s girl ; and, as she was looked upon with 
no gracious eye in the kitchen. Miss Ophelia resolved to 
coniine her sphere of operation and instruction chiefly to 
her own chamber. With a self-sacrifice which some of 
our readers will appreciate, she resolved, instead of com- 
fortably making her own bed, sweeping and dusting her 
own chamber, — which she had hitherto done, in utter scorn 
of all offers of help from the chambermaid of the establish- 
ment, — to condemn herself to the martyrdom of instruct- 
ing Topsy to perform these operations, — ah, woe the day ! 
Did any of our readers ever do the same, they will appre- 
ciate the amount of her self-sacrifice. 

Miss Ophelia began with Topsy by taking her into her 
chamber, the first morning, and solemnly commencing a 
course of instruction in the art and mystery of bed-mak- 
ing. 

Behold, then, Topsy, washed and shorn of all the little 
braided tails wherein her heart had delighted, arrayed in 
a clean gown, with well-starched apron standing reverently 
before Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well 
befitting a funeral. 

‘^‘^Now, Topsy, I’m going to show you just how my bed 
is to be made. I am very particular about my bed. You 
must learn exactly how to do it.” 

Yes, ma’am,” says Topsy, with a deep sigh, and a face 
of woeful earnestness. 

‘'‘'Now, Topsy, look here ; — this is the hem of the sheet, 
— this is the right side of the sheet, and this is the wrong ; 
. — will you remember ? ” 

^‘' Yes, ma’am,” says Topsy, with another sigh. 

^‘' Well, now, the under sheet you must bring over the 
bolster, — so, — and tuck it clear down under the mattress, 
nice and smooth, — so, — do you see ? ” 

Yes, ma’am,” said Topsy, with profound attention. 

^^But the upper sheet,” said Miss Ophelia, ^^must be 
brought down in this way, and tucked under firm and 
smooth at the foot, — so, — the narrow hem at the foot.” 
Yes, ma’am,” said Topsy, as before ; — but we will add. 


262 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


what Miss Ophelia did not see, that during the time when 
the good lady^s hack was turned, in the zeal of her manip- 
ulations, the young disciple had contrived to snatch a pair 
of gloves and a ribbon, which she had adroitly slipped into 
her sleeves, and stood with her hands dutifully folded, as 
before. 

^^Now, Topsy, let^s see you do this,"*^ said Miss Ophelia, 
pulling off the clothes, and seating herself. 

Topsy, with great gravity and adroitness, went through 
the exercise completely to Miss Ophelia^s satisfaction ; 
smoothing the sheets, patting out every wrinkle, and ex- 
hibiting, through the whole process, a gravity and serious- 
ness with which her instructress was greatly edified. By 
an unlucky slip, however, a fluttering fragment of the 
ribbon hung out of one of her sleeves, just as she was finish- 
ing, and caught Miss Ophelia^s attention. Instantly she 
pounced upon it. What^s this ? You naughty, wicked 
child, — you’ve been stealing this ! ” 

The ribbon was pulled out of Topsy^s own sleeve, yet was 
she not in the least disconcerted ; she only looked at it with 
an air of the most surprised and unconscious innocence. 

Laws ! why, that ar’s Miss Feely’s ribbon, an’t it ? 
How could it a got caught in my sleeve ? ” 

** Topsy, you naughty girl, don’t you tell me a lie, — ^you 
stole that ribbon ! ” 

Missis, I declar for ’t, I didn’t ; — never seed it till dis 
yer blessed m innit.” 

Topsy,” said Miss Ophelia, don’t you know it’s wicked 
to tell lies ? ” 

^‘1 never tells no lies. Miss Feely,” said Topsy, with 
virtuous gravity ; it’s jist the truth I’ve been a-tellin now, 
and an’t nothin’ else.” 

Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so.” 

Laws, Missis, if you’s to whip all day, couldn’t say no 
other way,” said Topsy, beginning to blubber. I never 
seed dat ar, — it must a got caught in my sleeve. Miss 
Feely must have left it on the bed, and it got caught in 
the clothes, and so got in my sleeve.” 

Miss Ophelia was so indignant at the barefaced lie, that 
she caught the child and shook her. 

Don’t you tell me that again ! ” 

The shake brought the gloves on to the floor, from the 
other sleeve. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 263 

There, you ! ” said Miss Ophelia, will you tell me 
now, you didnT steal the ribbon ? 

Topsy now confessed to the gloves, but still persisted in 
denying the ribbon. 

‘^Now, Topsy,” said Miss Ophelia, ^^if youM confess all 
about it, I wonT whip you this time.” Thus adjured, 
Topsy confessed to the ribbon and gloves, with woeful pro- 
testations of penitence. 

Well, now, tell me. I know you must have taken other 
things since you have been in the house, for I let you run 
about all day yesterday. Now, tell me if you took anything, 
and I shanT whip you.” 

Laws, Missis ! I took Miss Eva^s Bed thing she wars on 
her neck.” 

You did, you naughty child ! — Well, what else ?” 
took Kosa^s yer-rings, — them red ones.” 

Go bring them to me this minute, both of ^em.” 

Laws, Missis ! I canT, — they^s burnt up ! ” 

Burnt up ! — what a story ! Go get ^em, or Fll whip 
you.” 

Tospy, with loud protestations, and tears, and groans, 
declared that she could not. They^s burnt up, — they 
was.” 

What did you burn ■’em up for ?” said Miss Ophelia. 

Cause Fs wicked, — I is. Fs mighty wicked, anyhow. 

I canT help it.” 

Just as this moment, Eva came innocently into the room 
with the identical coral necklace on her neck. 

^^Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace?” said • 
Miss Ophelia. 

Get it ? Why, Fve had it on all day,” said Eva. 

Did you have it on yesterday ?” 

Yes ; and what is funny, aunty, I had it on all night. 

I forgot to take it off when I went to bed.” 

Miss Ophelia looked perfectly bewildered ; the more so, 
as Rosa, at that instant, came into the room, with a basket 
of newly-ironed linen poised on her head, and the coral 
ear-drops shaking in her ears ! 

I^m sure I can’t tell anything what to do with such a 
child ! ” she said, in despair. What in the world did you 
tell me you took those thimgs for, Topsy ? ” 

Why, Missis said I must ’fess ; and I couldn’t think of 
nothin’ else to ’fess,” said Topsy, rubbing her eyes. 


264 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


But, of course, I didn^t want you to confess things you 
didn^t do/^ said Miss Ophelia ; that^s telling a lie, just as 
much as the other/^ 

Laws, now, is it said Topsy, with an air of innocent 
wonder. 

La, there an^t any such thing as truth in that limb,^^ 
said Rosa, looking indignantly at Topsy. If I was Mas^r 
St. Clare, IM whip her till the blood run. I would, — Fd 
let her catch it ! ” 

^^No, no, Rosa,” said Eva, with an air of command, 
which the child could assume at times ; you mustnT talk 
so, Rosa. I canT bear to hear it.” 

La sakes ! Miss Eva, you^s so good, you donT know 
nothing how to get along with niggers. There^’s no way 
but to cut ^em well up, I tell ye.” 

^^Rosa!” said Eva, hush ! Don’t you say another 
word of that sort ! ” and the eye of the child flashed, and 
her cheek deepened its color. 

Rosa was cowed in a moment. 

Miss Eva has got the St. Clare blood in her, thaFa 
plain. She can speak, for all the world, just like her 
papa,” she said, as she passed out of the room. 

Eva stood looking at Topsy. 

There stood the two children, representatives of the two 
extremes of society. The fair, high-bred child, with her 
golden head, her deep eyes, her spiritual, noble brow, and 
prince-like movements ; and her black, keen, subtle, cring- 
ing, yet acute neighbor. They stood the representatives 
of their races. The Saxon, born of ages of cultivation, 
command, education, physical and moral eminence ; the 
Afric, born of ages of oppression, submission, ignorance, 
toil, and vice ! 

Something, perhaps, of such thoughts struggled through 
Eva’s mind. But a child’s thoughts are rather dim, unde- 
flned instincts ; and in Eva’s noble nature many such were 
yearning and working, for which she had no power of 
utterance. When Miss Ophelia expatiated on Topsy’s 
naughty, wicked conduct, the child looked perplexed and 
sorrowful, but said, sweetly. 

Poor Topsy, why need you steal ? You’re going to be 
taken good care of, now. I’m sure I’d rather give you any- 
thing of mine, than have you steal it.” 

It was the flrst word of kindness the child had ever heard 


LIFE AMONG TUB LOWLY, 


2o5 


in her life ; and the sweet tone and manner struck strangely 
on the wild, rude heart, and a sparkle of something like a 
tear shone in the keen, round, glittering eye ; but it was 
followed by the short laugh and habitual grin. No ! the 
ear that has never heard anything but abuse is strangely 
incredulous of anything so heavenly as kindness ; and 
Topsy only thought Eva^s speech something funny and in- 
explicable, — she did not believe it. 

But what was to be done with Topsy ? Miss Ophelia 
found the case a puzzler ; her rules for bringing up didn't 
seemed to apply. She thought she would take time to 
think of it ; and, by the way of gaining time, and in hopes 
of some indefinite moral virtues supposed to be inherent 
in dark closets. Miss Ophelia shut Topsy up in one till she 
had arranged her ideas further on the subject. 

I don't see," said Miss Ophelia to St. Clare, how I'm 
going to manage that child without whipping her." 

Well, whip her, then, to your heart's content ; I'll give 
you full power to do what you like." 

Children always have to be whipped," said Miss 
Ophelia ; I never heard of bringing them up without." 

0, well, certainly," said St. Clare ; ‘^do as you think 
best. Only I'll make one suggestion : I've seen this child 
whipped with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or 
tongs, whichever came handiest, etc. ; and, seeing that she 
is used to that style of operation, I think your whippings 
will have to be pretty energetic, to make much impression." 

What is to be done with her, then ? " said Miss 
Ophelia. 

You have started a serious question," said St. Clare ; 

I wish you'd answer it. What is to be done with a hu- 
man being that can be governed only by the lash, — that 
fails, — it's a very common state of things down here ! " 

I'm sure I don't know ; I never saw such a child as 
this." 

Such children are very common among us, and such 
men and women, too. How are they to be governed ? " 
said St. Clare. 

I'm sure it's more than I can say," said Miss Ophelia. 

^^Or I either," said St. Clare. ^^The horrid cruelties 
and outrages that once and awhile find their way into the 
papers, — such cases as Prue's, for example, — what do they 
come from ? In many cases, it is a gradual hardening pro- 


266 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


cess on both sides, — the owner growing more and^ more 
crnel, as the servant more and more callous. Whipping 
and abuse are like laudanum ; you have to double the dose 
as the sensibilities decline. I saw this very early when I 
became an owner ; and I resolved never to begin, because 
I did not know when I should stop, — and I resolved, at 
least, to protect my own moral nature. The consequence 
is, that my servants act like spoiled children ; but I think 
that better than for us both to be brutalized together. 
You have talked a great deal about our responsibilities in 
educating, cousin. I really wanted you to try with one 
child who is a specimen of thousands among us.'’^ 

“ It is your system makes such children,'’^ said Miss 
Ophelia. 

I know it ; but they are made , — they exist, — and what 
is to be done with them ? 

^^Well, I canT say I thank you for the experiment. 
But, then, as it appears to be a duty, I shall persevere and 
try, and do the best 1 can,^^ said Miss Ophelia ; and Miss 
Ophelia, after this, did labor, with a commendable degree 
of zeal and energy, on. her new subject. She instituted 
regular hours and employments for her, and undertook to 
teach her to read and to sew. 

In the former art, the child was quick enough. She 
learned her letters as if by magic, and was very soon able 
to read plain reading ; but the sewing was a more difficult 
matter. The creature was as lithe as a cat, and as active 
as a monkey, and the confinement of sewing was her abom- 
ination ; so she broke her needles, threw . them slyly out 
of windows, or down in chinks of the walls ; she tangled, 
broke, and dirtied her thread, or, with a sly movement, 
would throw a spool away altogether. Her motions were 
almost as quick as those of a practised conjurer, and her 
command of her face quite as great ; and though Miss 
Ophelia could not help feeling that so many accidents could 
not possibly happen in succession, yet she could not, with- 
out a watchfulness which would leave her no time for any- 
thing else, detect her. 

Topsy was soon a noted character in the establishment. 
Her talent for every species of drollery, grimace, and mim- 
icry, — for dancing, tumbling, climbing, singing, whistling, 
imitating every sound that hit her fancy, — seemed inex- 
haustible. In her play-hours, she invariably had every 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


267 


child in the establishment at her heels, open-mouthed 
with admiration and wonder, — not excepting Miss Eva, 
who appeared to be fascinated by her wild diablerie, as a 
dove is sometimes charmed by a glittering serpent. Miss 
Ophelia was uneasy that Eva should fancy Topsy^s society 
so much, and implored St. Clare to forbid it. 

^'Poh! let the child alone,'" said St. Clare. Topsy 
will do her good." 

But so depraved a child, — are you not afraid she will 
teach her some mischief ? " 

She can't teach her mischief ; she might teach it to 
some children, but evil rolls off Eva's mind like dew otf a 
cabbage-leaf, — not a drop sinks in." 

Don't be too sure," said Miss Ophelia. I know I'd 
never let a child of mine play with Topsy." 

‘^^Well, your children needn't," said St. Clare, ^^but 
mine may ; if Eva could have been spoiled, it would have 
been done years ago." 

Topsy was at first despised and contemned by the upper 
servants. They soon found reason to alter their opinion. 
It was very soon discovered that whoever cast an indignity 
on Topsy was sure to meet with some inconvenient accident 
shortly after ; — either a pair of ear-rings or some cherished 
trinket would be missing, or an article of dress would be 
suddenly found utterly ruined, or the person would stum- 
ble accidentally into a pail of hot water, or a libation of 
dirty slop would unaccountably deluge them from above 
when in full gala dress ; — and on all these occasions, when 
investigation was made, there was nobody found to stand 
sponsor for the indignity. Topsy was cited, and had up 
before all the domestic judicatories, time and again ; but 
always sustained her examinations with most edifying 
innocence and gravity of appearance. Nobody in the 
world ever doubted who did the things ; but not a scrap 
of any direct evidence could be found to establish the sup- 
positions, and Miss Ophelia was too just to feel at liberty 
to proceed to any lengths without it. 

The mischiefs done were always so nicely timed, also, as 
further to shelter the aggressor. Thus, the times for re- 
venge on Kosa and Jane, the two chamber-maids, were always 
chosen in those seasons when (as not unfrequently hap- 
pened) they were in disgrace with their mistress, when 
any complaint from them would of course meet with no 


268 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


sympathy. In short, Topsy soon made the household 
understand the propriety of letting her alone ; and she was 
let alone, accordingly. 

Topsy was smart and energetic in all manual operations, 
learning everything that was taught her with surprising 
quickness. With a few lessons, she had learned to do the 
proprieties of Miss Ophelia^s chamber in a way with which 
even that particular lady could find no fault. Mortal 
hands could not lay spread smoother, adjust pillows more 
accurately, sweep and dust and arrange more perfectly, 
than Topsy, when she chose, — but she didnT very often 
choose. If Miss Ophelia, after three or four days of care- 
ful and patient supervision, was so sanguine as to suppose 
that Topsy had at last fallen into her way, could do with- 
out overlooking, and so go olf and busy herself about 
something else, Topsy would hold a perfect carnival of 
confusion, for some one or two hours. Instead of making 
the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling off the 
pillow-cases, butting her woolly head among the pillows, 
till it would sometimes be grotesquely ornamented with 
feathers sticking out in various directions ; she would climb 
the posts, and hang head downward from the tops ; flourish 
the sheets and spreads all over the apartment ; dress the 
bolster up in Miss Ophelia^s night-clothes, and enact 
various scenic performances with that, — singing and whis- 
tling, and making grimaces at herself in the looking-glass ; 
in short, as Miss Ophelia phrased it, raising Cain 
generally. 

On one occasion. Miss Ophelia found Topsy with her 
very best scarlet India Canton crape shawl wound round 
her head for a turban, going on with her rehearsals before 
the glass in great style, — Miss Ophelia having, with care- 
lessness most unheard-of in her, left the key for once in 
her drawer. 

Topsy ! ” she would say, when at the end of all patience, 

what does make you act so ? 

Donno, Missis, — I spects ^cause I’s so wicked ! ” 

I donT know anything what I shall do with you, 
Topsy. 

‘‘Law, Missis, you must whip me; my old Missis 
allers whipped me. I an’t used to workin^ unless I gets 
whipped.^" 

“Why, Topsy, I doiTt want to whip you. You can 




Vncte Tom's Cabin, Byron Photo, Courtesy of W. A, Brady. 

Ophelia and Topsy. — 26 g. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


269 


do well, if youVe a mind to ; what is the reason you 
won't ?” 

Laws, Missis, I's used to whippin' ; I spects it's good 
for me." 

Miss Ophelia tried the recipe, and Topsy invariably 
made a terrible commotion, screaming, groaning, and im- 
ploring, though half an hour afterwards, when roosted on 
some projection of the balcony, and surrounded by a flock 
of admiring young 'uns," she would express the utmost 
contempt of the whole affair. 

^‘'Law, Miss Feely whip! — wouldn't kill a skeeter, her 
whippin's. Oughter see how old Mas'r made the flesh fly ; 
old Mas'r know'd how ! " 

Topsy always made great capital of her own sins and 
enormities, evidently considering them as something pecul- 
iarly distinguishing. 

Law, you niggers," she would say to some of her 
auditors, ^^does you know you's all sinners? Well, you 
is — everybody is. White folks is sinners too, — Miss Feely 
says so ; but I spects niggers is the biggest ones ; but lor ! 
ye an't any on ye up to me. Fs so awful wicked there 
can't nobody do nothin' with me. I used to keep old 
Missis a-swarin' at me half de time. I spects I's the 
wickedest critter in the world ; " and Topsy would cut a 
summerset, and come up brisk and shining on to a higher 
perch, and evidently plume herself on the distinction. 

Miss Ophelia busied herself very earnestly on Sundays, 
teaching Topsy the catechism. Topsy had an uncommon 
verbal memory, and committed with a fluency that greatly 
encouraged her instructress. 

What good do you expect it is going to do her ? " said 
St. Clare. 

Why, it always has done children good. It's what 
children always have to learn, you know," said Miss 
Ophelia. 

Understand it or not," said St. Clare. 

0, children never understand it at the time ; but, 
after they are grown up, it'll come to them." 

Mine hasn't come to me yet," said St. Clare, though 
I'll bear testimony that you put it into me pretty thoroughly 
when I was a boy." 

Ah, you were always good at learning, Augustine. I 
used to have great hopes of you," said Miss Ophelia. 


270 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


Well, haven^t you now ? ” «aid. St. Clare. 

I wisri you were as good ajs you were when you were 8 
boy, Augustine. 

So do I, that^safact, cousin,^ said St. Clare. Well, 
2:0 ahead and catechise Topsy ; may he you’ll make out 
something yet.” 

Topsy, who had stood like a black statue during this 
discussion, with hands decently folded, now, at a signal 
from Miss Ophelia, went on : 

Our first parents, being left to the freedom of their 
own will, fell from the state wherein they were created.” 

Topsy’s eyes twinkled, and she looked inquiringly. 

What is it, Topsy ?” said Miss Ophelia. 

Please, Missis, was dat ar state Kintuck ? ” 

What state, Topsy ? ” 

Dat state dey fell out of. I used to hear Mas’r tell 
how we came down from Kintuck.” 

St. Clare laughed. 

You’ll have to give her a meaning, or she’ll make one,” 
said he. There seems to be a theory of emigration sug- 
gested there.” 

0 Augustine, be still,” said Miss Ophelia ; how 
can I do anything, if you will be laughing ? ” 

^^Well, I won’t disturb the exercises again, on my 
honor ; ” and St. Clare took his paper into the parlor, and 
sat down, till Topsy had finished her recitations. They 
were all very well, only that now and then she would oddly 
transpose some important words, and persist in the mistake, 
in spite of every effort to the contrary ; and St. Clare, after 
all his promises of goodness, took a wicked pleasure in these 
mistakes, calling Topsy to him whenever he had a mind to 
amuse himself, and getting her to repeat the offending 
passages, in spite of Miss Ophelia’s remonstrances. 

How do you think I can do anything with the child, 
if you will go on so, Augustine ? ” she would say. 

Well, it is too bad, — I won’t again ; but I do like to 
hear the droll little image stumble over those big words ! ” 

But you confirm her in the wrong way.” 

What’s the odds ? One word is as good as another to 
her.” 

You wanted me to bring her up right ; and you ought 
to remember she is a reasonable creature, and be careful 
of your infiuence over her.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


271 


0, dismal ! so I ought ; but, as Topsy herself says, ^ I^’s 
so wicked ! ^ ” 

In very much this way Topsy^s training proceeded, for 
a year or two, — Miss Ophelia worrying herself, from day 
to day, with her, as a kind of chronic plague, to whose 
inflictions she became, in time, as accustomed, as persons 
sometimes do to the neuralgia or sick headache. 

St. Clare took the same kind of amusement in the child 
that a man might in the tricks of a parrot or a pointer. 
Topsy, whenever her sins brought her into disgrace in 
other quarters, always took refuge behind his chair ; and 
St. Clare, in one way or other, would make peace for her. 
From him she got many a stray picayune, which she laid 
out in nuts and candies, and distributed, with careless 
generosity, to all the children in the family ; for Topsy, 
to do her justice, was good-natured and liberal, and only 
spiteful in self-defence. ' She is fairly introduced into our 
corps de ballet, and will flgure, from time to time, in her 
turn, with other performers. 


CHAPTER XXL 

KENTUCK. 

Our readers may not be unwilling to glance back, for a 
brief interval, at Uncle Tom^s Cabin, on the Kentucky 
farm, and see what has been transpiring among those whom 
he had left behind. 

It was late in the summer afternoon, and the doors and 
windows of the large parlor all stood open, to invite any 
stray breeze, that might feel in a good humor, to enter. 
Mr. Shelby sat in a large hall opening into the room, and 
running through the whole length of the house, to a bal- 
cony on either end. Leisurely tipped back in one chair, 
with his heels in another, he was enjoying his after-dinner 
cigar. Mrs. Shelby sat in the door, busy about some flne 
sewing ; she seemed like one who had something on her 
mind, which she was seeking an opportunity to intro- 
duce. 

Do you know,^^ she said, that Chloe has had a letter 
from Tom 


272 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


Ah ! has she ? Tom^s got some friend there, it seema. 
How is the old boy ? ” 

He has been bought by a very fine family, I should 
think/” said Mrs. Shelby, — is kindly treated, and has not 
much to do.” 

Ah ! well, Fm glad of it, — very glad,” said Mr. 
Shelby, heartily. Tom, I suppose, will get reconciled 
to a Southern residence ; — hardly want to come up here 
again.” 

^^On the contrary, he inquires very anxiously,” said 
Mrs. Shelby, when the money for his redemption is to 
be raised.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mr. Shelby. Once get 
business running wrong, there does seem to be no end to 
it. It’s like jumping from one bog to another, all through 
a swamp ; borrow of one to pay another, and then borrow 
of another to pay one, — and these confounded notes fall- 
ing due before a man has time to smoke a cigar and turn 
round, — dunning letters and dunning messages,' — all scam- 
per and hurry-scurry.” 

It does seem to me, my dear, that something might be 
done to straighten matters. Suppose we sell off all the 
horses, and sell one of your farms, and pay up square ? ” 

0, ridiculous, Emily ! You are the finest woman in 
Kentucky ; but still you haven’t sense to know that you 
don’t understand business ; — women never do, and never 
can.” 

But, at least,” said Mrs. Shelby, could not you give 
me some little insight into yours ; a list of all your debts, 
at least, and of all that is owed to you, and let me try and 
see if I can’t help you to economize.” 

0, bother ! don’t plague me, Emily ! — I can’t tell ex- 
actly. — I know somewhere about what things are likely to 
be ; but there’s no trimming and squaring my affairs, as 
Chloe trims crust off her pies. You don’t know anything 
about business, I tell you.” 

And Mr. Shelby, not knowing any other way of enforc- 
ing his ideas, raised his voice,^ — a mode of arguing very 
convenient and convincing, when a gentleman is discussing 
matters of business with his wife. 

Mrs. Shelby ceased talking, with something of a sigh. 
The fact was, that though her husband had stated she was 
a womaru she had a clear., energetic^ practical mind, and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


273 


a force of character every way superior to that of her hus- 
band ; so that it would not have been so very absurd a sup- 
position, to have allowed her capable of managing, as Mr. 
Shelby supposed. Her heart was set on performing het 
promise to Tom and Aunt Chloe, and she sighed as dis- 
couragements thickened around her. 

DonT you think we might in some way contrive to 
raise that money ? Poor Aunt Chloe ! her heart is so set 
on it ! 

Pm sorry, if it is. I think I was premature in prom- 
ising. Pm not sure, now, but iPs the best way to tell 
Chloe, and let her make up her mind to it. Tom^ll have 
another wife, in a year or two ; and she had better take up 
with somebody else.^^ 

Mr. Shelby, I have taught my people that their mar- 
riages are as sacred as ours. I never could think of giving 
Chloe such advice. 

IPs a pity, wife, that you have burdened them with 
a morality above their condition and prospects. I always 
thought so." 

IPs only the morality of the Bible, Mr. Shelby." 

^^Well, well, Emily, I donT pretend to interfere with 
your religious notions ; only they seem extremely unfitted 
for people in that condition." 

They are, indeed," said Mrs. Shelby, and that is why, 
from my soul, I hate the whole thing. I tell you, my dear, 
I cannot absolve myself from the promises I make to these 
helpless creatures. " If I can get the money no other way, 
I will take music scholars ; — I could get enough, I' know, 
and earn the money myself." 

^^YouwouldnT degrade yourself that way, Emily? I 
never could consent to it." 

Degrade ! would it degrade me as much as to break 
my faith with the helpless ? No, indeed ! " 

^^Well, you are always heroic and transcendental," said 
Mr. Shelby, ^^but I think you had better think before you 
undertake such a piece of Quixotism." 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance 
of Aunt Chloe, at the end of the verandah. 

If you please, Missis," said she. 

^^Well, Chloe, what is it? "said her mistress, rising, 
and going to the end of the balcony. 

If Missis would come and look at disyer lot o^ poetry." 

i8 


274 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


Chloe had a particular fancy for calling poultry poetry, 
— an application of language in which she always persisted, 
notwithstanding frequent corrections and advisings froni 
the young members of the family. 

La sakes ! she would say, I can^t see ; one jis good 
as turry, — poetry suthin good, anyhow ; and so poetry 
Chloe continued to call it. 

Mrs. Shelby smiled as she saw a prostrate lot of chickens 
and ducks, over which Chloe stood, with a very grave face 
of consideration. 

^^I^m a thinkin^ whether Missis would be a-havin^ a 
chicken pie o^ dese yer.^^ 

Really, Aunt Chloe, I don^t much care ; — serve them 
any way you like.’^ 

Chloe stood handling them over abstractedly ; it was quite 
evident that the chickens were not what she was thinking 
of. At last, with the short laugh with which her tribe 
often introduce a doubtful proposal, she said. 

Laws me, Missis ! what should Mas^r and Missis be a 
troubling theirselves ^bout de money, and not a usin^ what^s 
right in der hands ? and Chloe laughed again. 

don^t understand you, Chloe, said Mrs. Shelby, noth- 
ing doubting, from her knowledge of Chios’s manner, that 
she had heard every word of the conversation that had 
passed between her and her husband. 

Why, laws me. Missis ! ” said Chloe, laughing again, 

other folks hires out der niggers and makes money on ’em ! 
Don’t keep sich a tribe eatin’ ’em out of house and 
home.” 

Well, Chloe, who do you propose that we should hire 
out ?” 

Laws ! I an’t a proposin’ nothin’ ; only Sam he said der 
was one of dese yer perfectioners, dey calls ’em, in Louis- 
ville, said he wanted a good hand at cake and pastry ; and 
said he’d give four dollars a week to one, he did.” 

Well, Chloe.” 

Well, laws, I’s a-thinkin. Missis, it’s time Sally was put 
along to be doing something. Sally’s been under my care, 
now, dis some time, and she does most as well as me, con- 
siderin’ ; and if Missis would only let me go, I would help 
fetch up de money. I an’t afraid to put my cake, nor pies 
nother, ’long side no perfectioners” 

Confectioner’s, Chloe.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 275 

Law sakes. Missis ! ^tan^t no odds ; — words is so curis, 
ean^t never get "’em right ! " 

But, Chloe, do you want to leave your children 
Laws, Missis ! de boys is big enough to do day^s works ; 
dey does well enough ; and Sally, she'll take de baby, — 
she's such a peart young 'un, she won't take no lookin' 
arter." 

‘^Louisville is a good way off." 

“ Law sakes ! who's afeard ? — it's down river, somer 
near my old man, perhaps ? " said Chloe, speaking the last 
in the tone of a question, and looking at Mrs. Shelby. 

“No, Chloe ; it's many a hundred miles off," said Mrs. 
Shelby. 

Chloe's countenance fell. 

“Never mind ; your going there shall bring you nearer, 
Chloe. Yes, you may go ; and your wages shall every cent 
of them be laid aside for your husband's redemption." 

As when a bright sunbeam turns a dark cloud to silver, 
so Chloe's dark face brightened immediately, — it really 
shone. 

“ Laws ! if Missis isn't too good ! I was thinking of dat 
ar very thing ; 'cause I shouldn't need no clothes, nor shoes, 
nor nothin', — I could save every cent. How many weeks is 
der in a year. Missis ? " 

“ Fifty-two," said Mrs. Shelby. 

“ Laws ! now, dere is ? and four dollars for each on 'em. 
Why, how much'd dat ar be ? " 

“ Two hundred and eight dollars," said Mrs. Shelby. 

“ Why-e ! " said Chloe, with an accent of surprise and 
delight ; “ and how long would it take me to work it out. 
Missis ?" 

“ Some four or five years, Chloe ; but, then, you needn't 
do it all, — I shall add something to it." 

“ I wouldn't hear to Missis' givin' lessons nor nothin'. 
Mas'r's quite right in dat ar ; — 'twouldn't do, no ways. I 
hope none our family ever be brought to dat ar, while I's 
got hands." 

“ Don't fear, Chloe ; I'll take care of the honor of the 
family," said Mrs. Shelby, smiling. “ But when do you 
expect to go ? " 

“ Well, I want spectin' nothin' ; only Sam, he’s a-gwine 
to de river with some colts, and he said I could go 'long with 
him ; so I jest put my things together. If Missis was will- 


276 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


in^ Fd go with Sam to-morrow morning, if Missis would 
write m.y pass, and write me a commendation. ” 

Well, Chloe, Fll attend to it, if Mr. Shelby has no oh 
jections. I must speak to him.'’^ 

Mrs. Shelby went upstairs, and Aunt Chloe, delighted, 
went out to her cabin, to make her preparation. 

‘^Law sakes, Mas^r George! ye didn^t know Fs a-gwine 
to Louisville to-morrow I " she said to George, as, entering 
her cabin, he found her busy in sorting over her babjr'a 
clothes. I thought IM jis look over Sisk’s things, and get 
'em straightened up. But I'm gwine, Mas'r George, — 
gwine to have four dollars a week ; and Missis is gwine to 
lay it all up, to buy back my old man agin ! " 

Whew !" said George, ‘^here's a stroke of business, to 
be sure ! How are you going ? " 

To-morrow, wid Sam. And now, Mas'r George, I 
knows you'll Jis sit down and write to my old man, and tell 
him all about it, — won't ye ? " 

To be sure," said George ; Uncle Tom'll be right 
glad to hear from us. I'll go right in the house, for paper 
and ink ; and then, you know. Aunt Chloe, I can tell about 
the new colts and all." 

Sartin, sartin, Mas'r George ; you go 'long, and I'll get 
ye up a bit o' chicken, or some sich ; ye won't have many 
more suppers wid yer poor old aunty." 


CHAPTEK XXII. 

^^THE GKASS WITHERETH — THE FLOWER FADETH." 

Life passes, with us all, a day at a time ; so it passed 
with our friend Tom, till two years were gone. Though 
parted from all his soul held dear, and though often yearn- 
ing for what lay beyond, still was he never positively and 
consciously miserable ; for, so well is the harp of human 
feeling strung, that nothing but a crash that breaks every 
string can wholly mar its harmony ; and, on looking back 
to seasons which in review appear to us as those of depriva- 
tion and trial, we can remember that each hour, as it glided, 
brought its aiversions and alleviations, so that though not 
happy wholly, we were not, either, wholly miserable. 



Uncle Tom s Cabin. Byron Photo. Courtesy of IV. A. Brady. 

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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


277 


Tom read, in his only literary cabinet, of One who had 
** learned in whatsoever state He was, therewith to be con- 
tent/^ It seemed to him good and reasonable doctrine, and 
accorded well with the settled and thoughtful habit which 
he had acquired from the reading of that same book. 

His letter homeward, as we related in the last chap- 
ter, was in due time answered by Master George, in a good 
round, school-boy hand, that Tom said might be read 

most acrost the room." It contained various refreshing 
Items of home intelligence, with which our reader is fully 
acquainted : stated how Aunt Chloe had been hired out to 
a confectioner in Louisville, where her skill in the pastry 
line was gaining wonderful sums of money, all of which, 
Tom was informed, was to be laid up to go to make up the 
sum of his redemption money ; Mose and Pete were thriv- 
ing and the baby was trotting all about the house, under 
the care of Sally and the family generally. 

Tom^s cabin was shut up for the present ; but George 
expatiated brilliantly on ornaments and additions to be 
made to it when Tom came back. 

The rest of this letter gave a list of George^s school studies, 
each one headed by a flourishing capital ; and also told the 
names of four new colts that appeared on the premises since 
Tom left ; and stated, in the same connection, that father 
and mother were well. The style of the letter was decid- 
edly concise and terse ; but Tom thought it the most won- 
derful specimen of composition that had appeared in modern 
times. He was never tired of looking at it, and even held 
a council with Eva on the expediency of getting it framed, 
to hang up in his room. Nothing but the difficulty of ar- 
ranging it so that both sides of the page would show at once 
stood in the way of this undertaking. 

The friendship between Tom and Eva had grown with 
the child^s growth. It would be hard to say what place 
she held in the soft, impressible heart of her faithful at- 
tendant. He loved her as something frail and earthly, yet 
almost worshipped her as something heavenly and divine. 
He gazed on her as the Italian sailor gazes on his image of 
the child Jesus — with a mixture of reverence and tender- 
ness ; and to humor her graceful fancies, and meet those 
thousand simple wants which invest childhood like a many- 
colored rainbow, was Tom^s chief delight. In the market, 
at morning, his eyes were always on the flower stalls for 


278 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


rare bouquets for her, and the choicest peach or orange 
was slipped into his pocket to give to her when he came 
back ; and the sight that pleased him most was her sunny 
head looking out the gate for his distant approach, and her 
childish question, — Well, Uncle Tom, what have you got 
for me to-day ? ” 

Nor was Eva less zealous in kind offices, in return. 
Though a child, she was a beautiful reader ; — a fine musi- 
cal ear, a quick poetic fancy, and an instinctive sympathy 
with what is grand and noble, made her such a reader of 
the Bible as Tom had never before heard. At first, she 
read to please her humble friend ; but soon her own earn- 
est nature threw out its tendrils, and wound itself around 
the majestic book : and Eva loved it, because it woke in her 
strange yearnings, and strong, dim emotions, such as im- 
passioned, imaginative children love to feel. 

The parts that pleased her most were the Revelations 
and the Prophecies, — parts whose dim and wondrous im- 
agery, and fervent language, impressed her the more, that 
she questioned vainly of their meaning ; — and she and her 
simple friend, the old child and the young one, felt just 
alike about it. All that they knew was, that they spoke of 
a glory to be revealed, — a wondrous something yet to come 
wherein their soul rejoiced, yet knew not why ; and though 
it be not so in the physical, yet in moral science that which 
cannot be understood is not always profitless. For the 
soul awakes, a trembling stranger, between two dim eter- 
nities, — the eternal past, the eternal future. The light 
shines only on a small space around her ; therefore, she 
needs must yearn towards the unknown ; and the voices 
and shadowy movings which come to her from out the 
cloudy pillar of inspiration have each one echoes and an- 
swers in her own expecting nature. Its mystic imagery 
are so many talismans and gems inscribed with unknown 
hieroglyphics ; she folds them in her bosom, and expects 
to read them when she passes beyond the veil. 

At this time in our story, the whole St. Clare establish- 
ment is, for the time being, removed to their villa on Lake 
Pontchar train. The heats of summer had driven all who 
were able to leave the sultry and unhealthy city, to seek the 
shores of the lake, and its cool sea-breezes. 

St. Clare’s villa was an East Indian cottage, surrounded 
by light verandahs of bamboo-work, and opening on all 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


279 


sides into gardens and pleasure-grounds. The common 
sitting-room opened on to a large garden, fragrant with 
every picturesque plant and flower of the tropics, where 
winding paths ran down to the very shores of the lake, 
whose silvery sheet of water lay there, rising and falling in 
the sunbeams, — a picture never for an hour the same, yet 
every hour more beautiful. 

It is now one of those intensely golden sunsets which 
kindles the whole horizon into one blaze of glory, and 
makes the water another sky. The lake lay in rosy or 
golden streaks, save where white-winged vessels glided 
hither and thither, like so many spirits, and little golden 
stars twinkled through the glow, and looked down at them- 
selves as they trembled in the water. 

Tom and Eva were seated on a little mossy seat, in an 
arbor, at the foot of the garden. It was Sunday evening, 
and Eva^s Bible lay open on her knee. She read, — And 
I saw a sea of glass, mingled with fire.^^ 

Tom,^^ said Eva, suddenly stopping, and pointing to the 
lake, there Tis." 

What, Miss Eva ? 

DonT you see, — there ? said the child, pointing to the 
glassy water, which, as it rose and fell, reflected the golden 
glow of the sky. ^^There^s a ^sea of glass, mingled with 
fire. 

True enough. Miss Eva,^^ said Tom ; and Tom sang — 

“ O, had I the wings of the morning, 

I’d fly away to Canaan’s shore ; 

Bright angels should convey me home, 

To the new Jerusalem.” 

Where do you suppose new Jerusalem is. Uncle Tom? 
said Eva. 

0, up in the clouds. Miss Eva.'^^ 

Then I think I see it,^" said Eva. Look in those 
clouds ! — they look like great gates of pearl ; and you can 
see beyond them — far, far off— it^s all gold. Tom, sing 
about ^ spirits bright. ” 

Tom sung the words of a well-known Methodist hymn 

“ I see a band of spirits bright. 

That taste the glories there ; 

They all are robed in spotless white. 

And conquering palms they bear.” 


280 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Uncle Tom, Tve seen them” said Eva. 

Tom had no doubt of it at all ; it did not surprise him 
in the least. If Eva had told him she had been to heaven, 
he would have thought it entirely probable. 

They come to me sometimes in my sleep, those spirits ; ^ 
and Eva^s eyes grew dreamy, and she hummed, in a low 
voice, 

“ They are all robed in spotless white, 

And conquering palms they bear.” 

Uncle Tom,” said Eva, Fm going there.” 

Where, Miss Eva ? ” 

The child rose, and pointed her little hand to the sky ; 
the glow of evening lit her golden hair and flushed cheek 
with a kind of unearthly radiance, and her eyes were bent 
earnestly on the skies. 

I^’m going there” she said, to the spirits bright, Tom ; 
Fm going, before long,” 

The faithful old heart felt a sudden thrust ; and Tom 
thought how often he had noticed, within six months, that 
Eva^s little hands had grown thinner, and her skin more 
transparent, and her breath shorter ; and how, when she 
ran or played in the garden as she once could for hours, 
she became soon so tired and languid. He had heard 
Miss Ophelia speak often of a cough, that all her medica- 
ments could not cure ; and even now that fervent cheek 
and little hand were burning with hectic fever ; and yet 
the thought that Eva^s words suggested had never come 
to him till now. 

Has there ever been a child like Eva ? Yes, there have 
been ; but their names are always on ^ave-stones, and 
their sweet smiles, their heavenly eyes, their singular words 
and ways, are among the buried treasures of yearning 
hearts. In how many families do you hear the legend that 
all the goodness and graces of the living are nothing to the 
peculiar charms of one who is not. It is as if heaven had 
an especial band of angels, whose office it was to sojourn 
for a season here, and endear to them the wayward human 
heart, that they might bear it upward with them in their 
homeward flight. When you see that deep, spiritual light 
in the eye, — when the little soul reveals itself ^n words 
sweeter and wiser than the ordinary words of children, — 
hope not to retain that child ; for the seal of heaven is on 
it, and the light of immortality looks out from its eyes. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


281 


Even so, beloved Eva I fair star of thy dwelling ! Thou 
art passing away : but they that love thee dearest know it 
not. 

The colloquy between Tom and Eva was interrupted by 
a hasty call from Miss Ophelia. 

Eva — Eva ! — why, child, the dew is falling ; you 
mustnT be out there ! 

Eva and Tom hastened in. 

Miss Ophelia was old, and skilled in the tactics of nurs- 
ing. She was from New England, and knew well the first 
guileful footsteps of that soft, insidious disease, which 
sweeps away so many of the fairest and loveliest, and, 
before one fibre of life seems broken, seals them irrevocably 
for death. 

She had noted the slight, dry cough, the daily brighten- 
ing cheek ; nor could the lustre of the eye, and the airy 
buoyancy born of fever, deceive her. 

She tried to communicate her fears to St. Clare ; but he 
threw back her suggestions with a restless petulance, unlike 
his usual careless good-humor. 

DonT be croaking, cousin, — I hate it ! ” he would say ; 
^^donT you see that the child is only growing. Children 
always lose strength when they grow fast.^^ 

But she has that cough ! 

0 ! nonsense of that cough ! — it is not anything. She 
has taken a little cold, perhaps.” 

Well, that was just the way Eliza Jane was taken, and 
Ellen and Maria Sanders.” 

0 ! stop these hobgoblin nurse legends. You old 
hands get so wise, that a child cannot cough, or sneeze, 
but you see desperation and ruin at hand. Only take care 
of the child, keep her from the night air, and donT let her 
play too hard, and shefil do well enough.” 

So St. Clare said ; but he grew nervous and restless. 
He watched Eva feverishly day by day, as might be told by 
the frequency with which he repeated over that the 
child was quite well ” — that there wasnT anything in that 
cough, — it was only some little stomach affection, such as 
children often had. But he kept by her more than 
before, took her oftener to ride with him, brought home 
every few days some receipt or strengthening mixture, — 

not,” he said, that the child needed it, but then it 
would not do her any harm.” 


282 


UNHLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


If it must be told, the thing that struck a deeper pang 
to his heart than anything else was the daily increasing 
maturity of the ohild^s mind and feelings. While stiU 
retaining all a child^s fanciful graces, yet she often dropped, 
unconsciously, words of such a reach of thought, and 
strange unworldly wisdom, that they seemed to be an 
inspiration. At such times, St. Clare would feel a sudden 
thrill, and clasp her in his arms, as if that fond clasp 
could save her ; and his heart rose up with wild deter- 
mination to keep her, never to let her go. 

The Childs’s whole heart and soul seemed absorbed in 
works of love and kindness. Impulsively generous she 
had always been ; but there was a touching and womanly 
thoughtfulness about her now, that every one noticed. 
She still loved to play with Topsy, and the various colored 
children ; but she now seemed rather a spectator than an 
actor of their plays, and she would sit for half an hour at 
a time, laughing at the odd tricks of Topsy, — and then a 
shadow would seem to pass across her face, her eyes grew 
misty, and her thoughts were afar. 

Mamma, she said, suddenly, to her mother, one day, 
why donT we teach our servants to read ? 

What a question, child ! People never do.” 

Why donT they ?” said Eva. 

Because it is no use for them to read. It donT help 
them to work any better, and they are not made for any- 
thing else.” 

But they ought to read the Bible, mamma, to learn 
God^s will.” 

0 ! they can get that read to them all theyneed/^ 

It seems to me, mamma, the Bible is for every one to 
read themselves. They need it a great many times when 
there is nobody to read it.” 

Eva, you are an odd child,” said her mother. 

Miss Ophelia has taught Topsy to read,” continued 

Eva. 

Yes, and you see how much good it does. Topsjrls the 
worst creature I ever saw ! ” 

Here^s poor Mammy ! ” said Eva. She does love the 
Bible so much, and wishes so she could read ! And what 
will she do when I canT read to her ? ” 

Marie was busy, turning over the contents of a drawer, 
as she answered. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


283 


Well, of course, by and bye, Eva, you will have other 
things to think of, besides reading the Bible round to 
servants. Not but that is very proper ; IVe done it my- 
self, when I had health. But when you come to be dress- 
ing and going into company, you won't have time. See 
here !" she added, these jewels I'm going to give you 
when you come out. I wore them to my first ball. I can 
tell you, Eva, I made a sensation." 

Eva took the jewel-case, and lifted from it a diamond 
necklace. Her large, thoughtful eyes rested on them, but 
it was plain her thoughts were elsewhere. 

How sober you look, child ! " said Marie. 

Are these worth a great deal of money, mamma ?" 

To be sure they are. Father sent to France ^or them. 
They are worth a small fortune." 

I wish I had them," said Eva to do what I pleased 
with !" 


What would you do with them ? " 

I'd sell them, and buy a place in the free states, and 
take all our people there, and hire teachers, to teach them 
to read and write." 

Eva was cut short by her mother's laughing. 

Set up a boarding-school ! Wouldn't you teach them 
to play on the piano, and paint on velvet ? " 

^^I'd teach them to read their own Bible, and write 
their own letters, and read letters that are written to 
them," said Eva, steadily. I know, mamma, it does 
come very hard on them, that they can't do these things. 
Tom feels it, — Mammy does, — a great many of them do. 
I think it's wrong." 

Come, come, Eva ; you are only a child ! Yoii don't 
know anything about these things," said Marie ; “ besides, 
your talking makes my head ache." 

Marie always had a headache on hand for any conversation 
that did not exactly suit her. 

Eva stole away ; but after that, she assiduously gave 
Mammy reading lessons. 


284 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


CHAPTEE XXIIL 

HEKRIQUE. 

About this time, St. Clare’s brother Alfred, with his 
eldest son, a boy of twelve, spent a day or two with the 
family at the lake. 

No sight could he more singular and beautiful than that 
of these twin brothers. Nature, instead of instituting re- 
semblances between them, had made them opposites on 
every point ; yet a mysterious tie seemed to unite them in 
a closer friendship than ordinary. 

They used to saunter, arm in arm, up and down the 
alleys and walks of the garden. Augustine, with his blue 
eyes and golden hair, his ethereally flexible form and vi- 
vacious features ; and Alfred, dark-eyed, with haughty 
Koman proflle, firmly-knit limbs, and decided bearing. 
They were always abusing each other’s opinions and prac- 
tices, and yet never a whit the less absorbed in each other’s 
society ; in fact, the very contrariety seemed to unite 
them, like the attraction between opposite poles of the 
magnet. 

Henrique, the eldest son of Alfred, was a noble, dark- 
eyed, princely boy, full of vivacity and spirit ; and, from 
the first moment of introduction, seemed to be perfectly 
fascinated by the spirituelle graces of his cousin Evange- 
line. 

Eva had a little pet pony, of a snowy whiteness. It was 
easy as a cradle, and as gentle as its little mistress ; and 
this pony was now brought up to the back verandah by 
Tom, while a little mulatto boy of about thirteen led along 
a small black Arabian, which had just been imported, at 
a great expense, for Henrique. 

Henrique had a boy’s pride in his new possession ; and, 
as he advanced and took the reins out of the hands of his 
little groom, he looked carefully over him, and his brow 
darkened. 

What’s this. Dodo, you little lazy dog ! you haven’t 
rubbed my horse down, this morning.'^’ 

Yes, Mas’r,” said Dodo, submissively; ^^he got that 
dust on his own self.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 285 

Ton rascal, shut yonr month ! said Henriqne, violently 
raising his riding-whip. How dare yon speak 

The boy was a handsome, bright-eyed mnlatto, of jnst 
Henriqne'’s size, and his curling hair hung round a high, 
bold forehead. He had white blood in his veins, as could 
be seen by the quick flush in his cheek, and the sparkle of 
his eye, as he eagerly tried to speak. 

MasT Henriqne ! he began. 

Henrique struck him across the face with his riding-whip, 
and, seizing one of his arms, forced him on his knees, and 
beat him till he was out of breath. 

There, you impudent dog ! Now will you learn not to 
answer back when I speak to you ? Take the horse back, 
and clean him properly. Fll teach you your place ! 

Young MasT,^^ said Tom, ^‘1 specs what he was gwine 
to say was, that the horse would roll when he was bringing 
him up from the stable ; he^s so full of spirits, — thaFs the 
way he got that dirt on him ; I looked to his cleaning. 

You hold your tongue till youTe asked to speak ! ” 
said Henrique, turning on his heel, and walking up the 
steps to speak to Eva, who stood in her riding-dress. 

Dear cousin, Fm sorry this stupid fellow has kept you 
waiting,^^ he said. LeFs sit down here, on this seat, till 
they come. WhaFs the matter, cousin ; — you look so 
sober. 

How could you be so cruel and wicked to poor Dodo ? " 
said Eva. 

Cruel, — wicked ! said the boy, with unaffected sur- 
prise. What do you mean, dear Eva 

I donT want you to call me dear Eva, when you do so,^^ 
said Eva. 

Dear cousin, you donT know Dodo ; iFs the only way 
to manage him, he^’s so full of lies and excuses. The only 
way is to put him down at once, — not let him open his 
mouth ; thaFs the way papa manages.'’^ 

But Uncle Tom said it was an accident, and he never 
tells what isnT true.'’^ 

He^s an uncommon old nigger, then ! said Henrique. 

Dodo will lie as fast as he can speak. 

‘‘'You frighten him into deceiving, if you treat him so." 

“ Why, Eva, you’ve really taken such a fancy to Dodo, 
that I shall be jealous." 

‘‘ But you beat him, — and he didn’t deserve it." 


286 


UNCLE TOM'S CAEIN ; OR, 


0 , well, it may go for some time when he does, and 
don^t get it. A few cuts never come amiss with Dodo, — 
he^s a regular spirit, I can tell you ; but I won^t beat him 
again before you, if it troubles you.” 

Eva was not satisfied, bub found it in vain to try to make 
her handsome cousin understand her feelings. 

Dodo soon appeared, with the horses. 

^^Well, Dodo, youVe done pretty well, this time,” said 
his young master, with a more gracious air. Come, now, 
and hold Miss Evan’s horse, while I put her on to the 
saddle.” 

Dodo came and stood by Eva^s pony. His face was 
troubled ; his eyes looked as if he had been crying. 

Henrique, who valued himself on his gentlemanly adroit- 
ness in all manners of gallantry, soon had his fair cousin 
in the saddle, and, gathering the reins, placed them in her 
hands. 

But Eva bent to the other side of the horse, where Dodo 
was standing, and said, as he relinquished the reins, — 

That^s a good boy. Dodo ; — thank you ! ” 

Dodo looked up in amazement into the sweet young face ; 
the blood rushed to his cheeks, and the tears to his eyes. 

Here, Dodo,” said his master, imperiously. 

Dodo sprang and held the horse, while his master 
mounted. 

There^s a picayune for you to buy candy with. Dodo,” 
said Henrique ; ^^go get some.” 

And Henrique cantered down the walk after Eva. Dodo 
stood looking after the two children. One had given him 
money ; and one had given him what he wanted far more 
— a kind word, kindly spoken. Dodo had been only a few 
months away from his mother. His master had bought 
him at a slave warehouse, for his handsome face, to be a 
match to the handsome pony ; and he was now getting his 
breaking in, at the hands of his young master. 

The scene of the beating had been witnessed by the two 
brothers St. Clare, from another part of the garden. 

Augustine^s cheek flushed ; but he only observed, with 
his usual sarcastic carelessness, 

I su;gpose that^s what we may call republican education, 

Henrique is a devil of a fellow, when his blood^s up,” 
said Alfred, carelessly. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


287 


I suppose you consider this an instructive practice for 
him,” said Augustine, dryly. 

“I couldn^t help it, if I didn^t. Henrique is a regular 
little tempest ; — his mother and I have given him up, long 
ago. But, then, that Dodo is a perfect sprite, — no amount 
of whipping can hurt him.” 

And this by way of teaching Henrique the first verse 
of a republican's catechism, ^All men are born free and 
equal ! ^ ” 

Poh ! ” said Alfred ; one of Tom Jefierson^s pieces of 
French sentiment and humbug. It^s perfectly ridiculous 
to have that going the rounds among us, to this day.” 

I think it is,” said St. Clare, significantly. 

Because,” said Alfred, ^‘^we can see plainly enough 
that all men are not born free, nor born equal ; they are 
born anything else. For my part, I think half this repub- 
lican talk sheer humbug. It is the educated, the intelligent, 
the wealthy, the refined, who ought to have equal rights, 
and not the canaille.” 

^^If you can keep the canaille of that opinion,” said 
Augustine. They took their turn once, in France.” 

Of course, they must be kept down, consistently, stead- 
ily, as I should,” said Alfred, setting his foot hard down, 
as if he were standing on somebody. 

fib makes a terrible slip when they get up,” said Au- 
gustine, — in St. Domingo, for instance.” 

Poh ! ” said Alfred, wefil take care of that in this 
country. We must set our face against all this educating, 
elevating talk, that is getting about now ; the lower class 
must not be educated.” 

That is past praying for,” said Augustine ; educated 
they will be, and we have only to say how. Our system is 
educating them in barbarism and brutality. We are break- 
ing all humanizing ties, and making them brute beasts ; 
and, if they get the upper hand, such we shall find them.” 

They never shall get the upper hand ! ” said Alfred. 

^^ThaPs right,” said St. Clare; ^^put on the steam, 
fasten down the escape-valve, and sit on it, and see where 
youfil land.” 

Well,” said Alfred, ^^we will see. Pm not afraid to 
sit on the escape-valve, as long as the boilers are strong, 
and the machinery works well.” 

The nobles in Louis XVI. '’s time thought just so ; and 


288 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Austria and Pius IX. think so now ; and, some pleasant 
morning, you may all be caught up to meet each other in 
the air, when the boilers burst.*^ 

Dies declarabit,” said Alfred, laughing. 

I tell you,” said Augustine, if there is anything that 
is revealed with the strength of a divine law in our times, 
it is that the masses are to rise, and the under class become 
the upper one.” 

ThaPs one of your red republican humbugs, Augustine ! 
Why didn^t you ever take to the stump ; — you^d make a 
famous stump orator ! Well, I hope I shall be dead before 
this millennium of your greasy masses comes on.” 

Greasy or not greasy, they will govern |/02^,when their 
time comes,” said Augustine ; and they will be just such 
rulers as you make them. The French noblesse chose to 
have the people ‘sans culottes,^ and they had ‘sans culottd 

governors to their hearts^ content. The people of Hayti 

^^ 0 , come, Augustine ! as if we hadn’t had enough of that 
abominable, contemptible Hayti ! The Haytians were not 
Anglo-Saxons ; If they had been, there would have been 
another story. The Anglo-Saxon is the dominant race of 
the world, and is to be so” 

^^Well, there is a pretty fair infusion of Anglo-Saxon 
blood among our slaves, now,” said Augustine. There are 
plenty among them who have only enough of the African 
to give a sort of tropical warmth and fervor to our calcu- 
lating firmness and foresight. If ever the San Domingo 
hour comes, Anglo-Saxon blood will lead on the day. Sons 
of white fathers, with all our haughty feelings burning in 
their veins, will not always be bought and sold and traded. 
They will rise, and raise with them their mother’s race.” 

Stuff ! — nonsense ! ” 

Well,” said Augustine, there goes an old saying to 
this effect, ^As it was in the days of Noah, so shall it be ; — 
they ate, they drank, they planted, they builded, and knew 
not till the flood came and took them.’ ” 

On the whole, Augustine, I think your talents might 
do for a circuit rider,” said Alfred, laughing. Never 
you fear for us; possession is our nine points. We’ve got 
the power. This subject race,” said he, stamping firmly, 
is down, and shall stay down ! We have energy to manage 
our own powder.” 

Sons trained like your Henrique will be grand guard- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


289 


ians of yonr powder-magazines,” said Angustine, — ^^so 
cool and self-possessed ! The proverb says, ^ They that can- 
not govern themselves cannot govern others/ ” 

“ There is a trouble there,” said Alfred, thoughtfully ; 

there's no doubt that our system is a difficult one to train 
children under. It gives too free scope to the passions, 
altogether, which, in our climate, are hot enough. I find 
trouble with Henrique. The hoy is generous and warm- 
hearted, but a perfect fire-cracker when excited. I believe 
I shall send him North for his education, where obedience 
is more fashionable, and where he will associate more with 
equals, and less with dependents.” 

Since training children is the staple work of the human 
race,” said Augustine, I should think it something of a 
consideration that our system does not work well there.” 

It does not for some things,” said Alfred ; for others, 
again, it does. It makes boys manly and courageous ; and 
the very vices of an abject race tend to strengthen in them 
the opposite virtues. I think Henrique, now, has a keener 
sense of the beauty of truth, from seeing lying and decep- 
tion the universal badge of slavery.” 

A Christian-like view of the subject, certainly ! ” said 
Augustine. 

It's true, Christian-like or not ; and is about as Chris- 
tian-like as most other things in the world,” said Alfred. 

That may be,” said St. Clare. 

Well, there's no use in talking, Augustine. I believe 
we've been round and round this old track five hundred 
times, more or less. What do you say to a game of back- 
gammon ? ” 

The two brothers ran up the verandah steps, and were 
soon seated at a light bamboo stand, with the backgammon- 
board between them. As they were setting their men, 
Alfred said, 

^^I tell you, Augustine, if I thought as you do, I should 
do something.” 

^‘1 dare say you would, — you are one of the doing sort, 
— but what ? ” 

^^Why, elevate your own servants, for a specimen,” said 
Alfred, with a half-scornful smile. 

You might as well set Mount ^tna on them fiat, and 
tell them to stand up under it, as tell me to elevate my 
servants under all the superincumbent mass of society upon 

19 


290 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


them. One man can do nothing against the whole action 
of a community. Education, to do anything, must be a 
state education ; or there must be enough agreed in it to 
make a current.^'’ 

You take the first throw, said Alfred ; and the brothers 
were soon lost in the game, and heard no more till the scrap- 
ing of horses^ feet was heard under the verandah. 

There come the children,” said Augustine, rising. 

Look here, Alf ! Did you ever see anything so beauti- 
ful ? ” And, in truth, it ivas a beautiful sight. Henrique, 
with his bold brow, and dark, glossy curls, and glowing 
cheek, was laughing gayly, as he bent towards his fair 
cousin, as they came on. She was dressed in a blue riding- 
dress, with a cap of the same color. Exercise had given a 
brilliant hue to her cheeks, and heightened the effect. of 
her singularly transparent skin, and golden hair. 

Good heavens ! what perfectly dazzling beauty ! ” said 
Alfred. I tell you, Auguste, wonT she make some hearts 
ache, one of these days ?” 

She will, too truly, — God knows Em afraid so ! ” said 
St. Clare, in a tone of sudden bitterness, as he hurried 
down to take her off her horse. 

Eva, darling ! youTe not much tired ? ” he said, as he 
clasped her in his arms. 

No, papa,” said the child ; but her short, hard breath- 
ing alarmed her father. 

How could you ride so fast, dear ? — you know iEs bad 
for you.” 

felt so well, papa, and liked it so much, I forgot.” 

St. Clare carried her in his arms into the parlor, and laid 
her on the sofa. 

Henrique, you must be careful of Eva,” said he ; ^^you 
mustnT ride fast with her.” 

^^riltake her under my care,” said Henrique, seating 
himself by the sofa, and taking Eva^s hand. 

Eva soon found herself much better. Her father and 
uncle resumed their game, and the children were left 
together. 

Do you know, Eva, Fm so sorry papa is only going to 
stay two days here, and then I shanT see you again for ever 
so long ! If I stayed with you, I’d try to be good, and not 
be cross to Dodo, and so on. I don’t mean to treat Dodo 
ill ; but, you know. I’ve got such a quick temper. I’m 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


291 


not really bad to him, though. I give him a picayune, 
now and then ; and you see he- dresses well. I think, on 
the whole, Dedov’s pretty well 

Would you think you were well off, if there were not 
one creature in the world near you to love you ? ” 

I ? — Well, of course not.” 

And you have taken Dodo away from all the friends 
he ever had, and now he has not a creature to love him ; 
nobody can be good that way.” 

Well, I can^’t help it, as I know of. I can^’t get his 
mother, and I can^t love him myself, nor anybody else, as 
I know of.” 

Why can^t you ? ” said Eva. 

Love Dodo ! Why, Eva, you wouldn^t have me ! I 
may like him well enough ; but you don^t love your 
servants.” 

do, indeed.” 

How odd !” 

Don^t the Bible say we must love everybody ?” 

0, the Bible ! To be sure, it says a great many such 
things ; but, then, nobody ever thinks of doing them, — 
you know, Eva, nobody does.” 

Eva did not speak ; her eyes were fixed and thoughtful, 
for a few moments. 

^^At any rate,” she said, ^^dear cousin, do love poor 
Dodo, and be kind to him, for my sake ! ” 

I could love anything, for your sake, dear cousin ; for 
I really think you are the loveliest creature that I ever 
saw ! ” And Henrique spoke with an earnestness that 
flushed his handsome face. Eva received it with perfeet 
simplicity, without even a change of feature ; merely say- 
ing, Fm glad you feel so, dear Henrique ! I hope you 
will remember.” 

The dinner-bell put an end to the interview. 


CHAPTEK XXIV. 

FOEESHADOWINGS. 

Two days after this, Alfred St. Clare and Augustine 
parted ; and Eva, who had been stimulated, by the society 
of her young cousin, to exertions beyond her strength, 
began to fail rapidly. St. Clare was at last willing to call 


292 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


in medical advice, — a thing from which he had always 
shrunk, because it was the admission of an unwelcome 
truth. 

But, for a day or two, Eva was so unwell as to be con- 
fined to the house ; and the doctor was called. 

Marie St. Clare had taken no notice of the child’s gradually 
decaying health and strength, because she was completely 
absorbed in studying out two or three new forms of disease 
to which she believed she herself was a victim. It was the 
first principle of Marie’s belief that nobody ever was or 
could be so great a sufferer as herself ; and, therefore, she 
always repelled quite indignantly any suggestion that any 
one around her could be sick. She was always sure, in 
such a case, that it was nothing but laziness, or want of 
energy ; and that, if they had had the suffering she had, 
they would soon know the difference. 

Miss Ophelia had several times tried to awaken her 
maternal fears about Eva ; but to no avail. 

don’t see as anything ails the child,” she would say ; 

she runs about, and plays.” 

But she has a cough.” 

Cough ! you don’t need to tell me about a cough. I’ve 
always been subject to a cough, all my days. When I was 
of Eva’s age they thought I was in a consumption. Night 
after night. Mammy used to sit up with me. 0 ! Eva’s 
cough is not anything.” 

But she gets weak, and is short-breathed.” 

Law ! Fve had that, years and years ; it’s only a 
nervous affection.” 

^^But she sweats so nights.” 

^^Well, I have, these ten years. Very often, night 
after night, my clothes will be wringing wet. There won’t 
be a dry thread in my night-clothes, and the sheets will be 
so that Mammy has to hang them up to dry ! Eva doesn’t 
sweat anything like that ! ” 

Miss Ophelia shut her mouth for a season. But, now 
that Eva was fairly and visibly prostrated, and a doctor 
called, Marie, all on a sudden, took a new turn. 

She knew it,” she said ; ^^she always felt it, that she 
was destined to be the most miserable of mothers. Here she 
was with her wretched health, and her only darling child 
going down to the grave before her eyes ; ” — and Marie 
routed up Mammy nights, and rumpussed and scolded with 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


293 


more energy than ever, all day, on the strength of this new 
misery. 

My dear Marie, don^t talk so ! ” said St. Clare. Yon 
ought not to give up the case so, at once." 

Yon have not a mother^s feelings, St. Clare ! You 
never could understand me ! — you don^t now." 

But don^t talk so, as if it were a gone case ! " 

I can^t take it ash Clare. If 



you don^t feel when 


alarming 


state, I do. It^s a blow too much for me, with all I was 
bearing before." 

It's true," said St. Clare, that Eva is very delicate, 
that I always knew ; and that she has grown so rapidly 
as to exhaust her strength ; and that her situation is critical 
But just now she is only prostrated by the heat of the 
weather and by the excitement of her cousin's visit, and 
the exertions she made. The physician says there is room 
for hope." 

Well, of course, if you can look on the bright side, pray 
do ; it's a mercy if people haven't sensitive feelings, in 
this world. I am sure I wish I didn't feel as I do ; it only 
makes me completely wretched ! I wish I could be as easy 
as the rest of you ! " 

And the rest of them" had good reason to breathe the 
same prayer, for Marie paraded her new misery as the reason 
and apology for all sorts of inflictions on every one about 
her. Every word that was spoken by anybody, everything 
that was done or was not done everywhere, was only a new 
proof that she was surrounded by hard-hearted, insensible 
beings who were unmindful of her peculiar sorrows. Poor 
Eva heard some of these speeches ; and nearly cried her 
little eyes out, in pity for her mamma, and in sorrow that 
she should make her so much distress. 

In a week or two, there was a great improvement of 
symptoms, — one of those deceitful lulls, by which her in- 
exorable disease so often beguiles the anxious heart, even 
on the verge of the grave. Eva's step was again in the 
garden, — in the balconies ; she played and laughed again, 
— and her father, in a transport, declared that they should 
soon have her as hearty as anybody. Miss Ophelia and 
the physician alone felt no encouragement from this illu- 
sive truce. There was one other heart, too, that felt the 
same certainty, and that was the little heart of Eva, 


294 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


What is it that sometimes speaks in the soul so calmly, so 
clearly, that its earthly time is short ? Is it the secret 
instinct of decaying nature, or the souks impulsive throb, 
as immortality draws on ? Be it what it may, it rested in 
the heart of Eva, a calm, sweet, prophetic certainty that 
Heaven was near ; calm as the light of sunset, sweet as 
the bright stillness of autumn, there her little heart re- 
posed, only troubled by sorrow for those who loved her so 
dearly. 

For the child, though nursed so tenderly, and though 
life was unfolding before her with every brightness that 
love and wealth could give, had no regret for herself in 
dying. 

In that Book which she and her simple old friend had 
read so much together, she had seen and taken to her 
young heart the image of One who loved the little child ; 
and, as she ^azed and mused. He had ceased to be an im- 
age and a picture of the distant past, and come to be a 
living, all-surrounding reality. His love enfolded her 
childish heart with more than mortal tenderness ; and 
it was to Him, she said, she was going, and to his home. 

But her heart yearned with sad tenderness for all that 
she was to leave behind. Her father most, — for Eva, 
though she never distinctly thought so, had an instinctive 
perception that she was more in his heart than any other. 
She loved her mother because she was so loving a creature, 
and all the selfishness that she had seen in her only sad- 
dened and perplexed her ; for she had a child^s implicit 
trust that her mother could not do wrong. There was 
something about her that Eva never could make out ; and 
she always smoothed it over with thinking that, after 
all, it was mamma, and she loved her very dearly in- 
deed. 

She felt, too, for those fond, faithful servants, to whom 
she was as daylight and sunshine. Children do not usually 
generalize ; but Eva was an uncommonly mature child, 
and the things that she had witnessed of the evils of the 
system under which they were living had fallen, one by 
one, into the depths of her thoughtful, pondering heart. 
She had vague longings to do something for them, — to 
bless and save not only them, but all in their condition, 
— ^longings that contrasted sadly with the feebleness of her 
little frame. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


295 


Uncle Tom,” she said, one day, when she was reading 
to her friend, I can understand why Jesus wanted to die 
for us.” 

^^Why, Miss Eva?” 

Because Fve felt so, too.” 

What is it. Miss Eva ? — I donT understand.” 

I canT tell you ; hut, when I saw those poor creatures 
on the boat, you know, when you came up and I, — some 
had lost their mothers, and some their husbands, and some 
mothers cried for their little children, — and when I heard 
about poor Prue, — oh, wasnT that dreadful ! — and a great 
many other times, l\e felt that i would he glad to die, if 
my dying could stop all this misery. I would die for them, 
Tom, if I could,” said the child, earnestly, laying her little 
thin hand on his. 

Tom looked at the child with awe ; and when she, hear- 
ing her fathers voice, glided away, he wiped his eyes many 
times, as he looked after her. 

^^IPs jest no use tryin^ to keep Miss Eva here,” he said 
to Mammy, whom he met a moment after. She^s got 
the Lord^s mark in her forehead.” 

Ah, yes, yes,” said Mammy, raising her hands ; Eve 
alters said so. She wasnT never like a child thaPs to 
live — there was alters something deep in her eyes. Eve 
told Missis so, many the time ; iPs a-comin'’ true, — we all 
sees it, — dear, little, blessed lamb !” 

Eva came tripping up the verandah steps to her father. 
It was late in the afternoon, and the rays of the sun formed 
a kind of glory behind her, as she came forward in her 
white dress, with her golden hair and glowing cheeks, her 
eyes unnaturally bright with the slow fever that burned in 
her veins. 

St. Clare had called her to show a statuette that he 
had been buying for her ; but her appearance, as she 
came on, impressed him suddenly and painfully. There 
is a kind of beauty so intense, yet so fragile, that we 
cannot hear to look at it. Her father folded her sud- 
denly in his arms, and almost forgot what he was going to 
tell her. 

Eva, dear, you are better nowadays, — are you not ?” 

Papa,” said Eva, with sudden firmness, Eve had 
things I wanted to say to you, a great while. I want to 
say them now, before I get weaker.” 


296 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


St. Clare trembled as Eva seated herself in his lap. 
She laid her head on his bosom, and said, 

It^s all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer. 
The time is coming that I am going to leave you. I am 
going, and never to come back ! and Eva sobbed. 

0, now, my dear little Eva ! said St. Clare, trem- 
bling as he spoke, but speaking cheerfully, ^^yoiCve got 
nervous and low-spirited ; you miistnT indulge such 
thoughts. See here. Eve bought a statuette for 

papa,” said Eva, putting it gently away, donT 
deceive yourself ! — I am not any better, I know it perfectly 
well, — and I am going, before long. I am not nervous, — 
I am not low-spirited. If it were not for you, papa, and 
my friends, I should be perfectly happy. I want to go, — 
I long to go ! ” 

Why, dear child, what has made your poor little heart 
so sad ? You have had everything, to make you happy, 
that could be given you.” 

I had rather be in heaven ; though, only for my 
friends’ sake, I would be willing to live. There are a 
great many things here that make me sad, that seem dread- 
ful to me ; I had rather be there ; but I don’t want to 
leave you, — it almost breaks my heart ! ” 

What makes you sad, and seems dreadful, Eva ?” 

0, things that are done, and done all the time. I 
feel sad for our poor people ; they love me dearly, and 
they are all good and kind to me. I wish, papa, they were 
all /ree.” 

“Why, Eva, child, don’t you think they are well 
enough off now ? ” 

“ 0, but, papa, if anything should happen to you, what 
would become of them ? There are very few men like 
you, papa. Uncle Alfred isn’t like you, and mamma 
isn’t ; and then, think of poor old Prue’s owners ! What 
horrid things people do, and can do ! ” and Eva shud- 
dered. 

“ My dear child, you are too sensitive. I’m sorry I ever 
let you hear such stories.” 

“ 0, that’s what troubles me, papa. You want me to 
live so happy, and never to have any pain, — never suffer 
anything, — not even hear a sad story, when other poor 
creatures have nothing but pain and sorrow, all their lives ; 



LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


297 


— it seems selfish. I ought to know such things, I ought 
to feel about them ! Such things always sunk into my 
heart ; they went down deep ; IVe thought and thought 
about them. Papa, isn^t there any way to have all slaves 
made free ? 

ThaPs a difficult question, dearesk There^s no doubt 
that this way is a very bad one ; a great many people think 
BO ; I do myself. I heartily wish that there were not a slave 
in the land ; but, then, I don^t know what is to be done 
about it ! 

Papa, you are such a good man, and so noble, and 
kind, and you always have a way of saying things that is so 
pleasant, couldn^t you go all round and try to persuade 
people to do right about this ? When I am dead, papa, 
then you will think of me, and do it for my sake. I would 
do it, if I could." 

When you are dead, Eva," said St. Clare, passionately. 

0, child, doWt talk to me so ! You are all I have on 
earth." 

Poor old Prue^s child was all that she had, — and yet 
she had to hear it crying, and she couldn^t help it ! Papa, 
these poor creatures love their children as much as you do 
me. 0 ! do something for them ! There^’s poor Mammy 
loves her children ; IVe seen her cry when she talked about 
them. And Tom loves his children ; and it^’s dreadful, 
papa, that such things are happening, all the time ! " 

There, there, darling," said St. Clare, soothingly ; 

only donT distress yourself, and doiTt talk of dying, and 
I will do anything you wish." 

And promise me, dear father, that Tom shall have his 
freedom as soon as — " she stopped, and said, in a hesitating 
tone — I am gone ! " 

Yes, dear, I will do anything in the world, — anything 
you could ask me to." 

^^Dear papa," said the child, laying her burning cheeh 
against his, ‘^Miow I wish we could go together !" 

Where, dearest ?" said St. Clare. 

To our Saviour^s home ; it^s so sweet and peaceful 
there — it is all so loving there ! " The child spoke uncon- 
sciously, as of a place where she had often been. DonT 
you want to go, papa ? " she said. 

St. Clare drew her closer to him, hut was silent. 

You will come to me," said the child, speaking in 


298 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 

a voice of calm certainty which she often used uncon- 
sciously. 

I shall come after you. I shall not forget you.^^ 

The shadows of the solemn evening closed round them 
deeper and deeper, as St. Clare sat silently holding the 
little frail form to his bosom. He saw no more the deep 
eyes, but the voice came over him as a spirit voice, and, as 
in a sort of judgment vision, his whole past life rose in a 
moment before his eyes : his mother’s prayers and hymns ; 
his own early yearnings and aspirings for good ; and, be- 
tween them and this hour, years of worldliness and scepti- 
cism, and what man calls respectable living. We can think 
much, very much, in a moment. St. Clare saw and felt 
many things, but spoke nothing ; and, as it grew darker, 
he took his child to her bedroom ; and, when she was 
prepared for rest, he sent away the attendants, and rocked 
her in his arms, and sung to her till she was asleep. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE LITTLE EVANGELIST. 

It was Sunday afternoon. St. Clare was stretched on a 
bamboo lounge in the verandah, solacing himself with a 
cigar. Marie lay reclined on a sofa, opposite the window 
opening on the verandah, closely secluded, under an awning 
of transparent gauze, from the outrages of the mosquitos, 
and languidly holding in her hand an elegantly bound 
prayer-book. She was holding it because it was Sunday, 
and she imagined she had been reading it, — though, in 
fact, she had been only taking a succession of short naps, 
with it (men in her hand. 

Miss Ophelia, who, after some rummaging, had hunted 
up a small Methodist meeting within riding distance, had 
gone out, with Tom as driver, to attend it ; and Eva had 
accompanied them. 

‘^1 say, Augustine,” said Marie after dozing a while, ‘‘I 
must send to the city after my old Doctor Posey ; Pm sure 
I’ve got the complaint of the heart. ” 

Well ; why need you send for him ? This doctor that 
attends Eva seems skilful.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


299 


I would not trust him in a critical case/^ said Marie ; 

and I think I may say mine is becoming so ! Fve been 
thinking of it, these two or three nights past ; I have such 
distressing pains, and such strange feelings/^ 

0 Marie, you are blue ; I don^t believe iFs heart com- 
plaint/^ 

1 dare say you don’t,^^ said Marie ; I was prepared to 
expect that. You can be alarmed enough, if Eva coughs, 
or has the least thing the matter with her ; but you never 
think of me.” 

^^If iFs particularly agreeable to you to have heart 
disease, why. 111 try and maintain you have it,” said St. 
Clare ; I didn^’t know it was.” 

Well, I only hope you won^'t be sorry for this, when iFs 
too late ! ” said Marie ; but, believe it or not, my distress 
about Eva, and the exertions I have made with that dear 
child, have developed what I have long suspected.” 

What the exertions were which Marie referred to, it 
would have been difficult to state. St. Clare quietly made 
this commentary to himself, and went on smoking, like a 
hard-hearted wretch of a man as he was, till a carriage 
drove up before the verandah, and Eva and Miss Ophelia 
alighted. 

Sliss Ophelia marched straight to her own chamber, to 
put away her bonnet and shawl, as was always her manner, 
before she spoke a word on any subject ; while Eva came, 
at St. Claret’s call, and was sitting on his knee, giving him 
an account of the services they had heard. 

They soon heard loud exclamations from Miss Ophelia^s 
room, which, like the one in which they were sitting, 
opened on to the verandah, and violent reproof addressed 
to somebody. 

What new witchcraft has Tops been brewing ?” asked 
St. Clare. That commotion is of her raising. Ell be 
bound !” 

And, in a moment after. Miss Ophelia, in high indigna- 
tion, came dragging the culprit along. 

Come out here, now !” she said. will tell your 
master !” 

WhaFs the case now ? ” asked Augustine. 

The case is, that I cannot be plagued with this child, 
any longer ! IFs past all bearing ; flesh and blood cannot 
endure it ! Here, I locked her up, and gave her a hymn 


300 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


to study ; and what does she do, but spy out where I put 
my key, and has gone to my bureau, and got a bonnet- 
trimming, and cut it all to pieces, to make dolhs jackets ! 
I never saw anything like it, in my life ! 

I told you, cousin,^^ said Marie, ^^that youM find out 
that these creatures can’t be brought up, without severity. 
If I had my way, now,” she said, looking reproachfully at 
St. Clare, ^^Fd send that child out, and have her thor- 
oughly whipped ; Fd have her whipped till she couldn’t 
stand ! ” 

I don’t doubt it,” said St. Clare. Tell me of the 
lovely rule of woman ! I never saw above a dozen women 
that wouldn’t half kill a horse, or a servant, either, if they 
had their own way with them ! — let alone a man.” 

There is no use in this shilly-shally way of yours, 
St. Clare ! ” said Marie. Cousin is a woman of sense, 
and she sees it now, as plain as I do.” 

Miss Ophelia had just the capability of indignation that 
belongs to the thorough-paced housekeeper, and this had 
been pretty actively roused by the artifice and wastefulness 
of the child ; in fact, many of my lady readers must own 
that they should have felt just so in her circumstances ; 
but Marie’s words went beyond her, and she felt less heat. 

I wouldn’t have the child treated so, for the world,” 
she said ; but, I am sure, Augustine, I don’t know what 
to do. I’ve taught and taught ; I’ve talked till I’m tired ; 
I’ve whipped her ; I’ve punished her in every way I can 
think of, and still she’s just what she was at first.’’ 

Come here. Tops, you monkey ! ” said St. Clare, call- 
ing the child up to him. 

Topsy came up ; her round, hard eyes glittering and 
blinking with a mixture of apprehensiveness and their 
usual odd drollery. 

‘^Yfhat makes you behave so?” said St. Clare, who 
could not help being amused with the child’s expression. 

Spects irs my wicked heart,” said Topsy, demurely ; 

Miss Feely says so.” 

"" Don’t you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for 
j^ou ? She says she has done everything she can think of.” 

Lor, yes, Mas’r ! old Missis used to say so, too. She 
whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my har, and 
knock my head agin th^ door ; but it didn’t do me na 
good ! I spects, if they’s to pull every spear o’ har out o* 


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Uncle T»m's Cabin. Bjrtn Pb*f. Cturtesy •/ //'. J. Brady. 

Topsy and Eva. 


—Page JOT, 



V 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 301 

my head, it wouldn’t do no good, neither, — Fs so wicked ! 
Laws ! Fs nothin’ -but a nigger, no ways ! ” 

Well, I shall have to give her up,” said Miss Ophelia ; 

can’t have that trouble any longer.” 

Well, Fd just like to ask one question,” said St. Clare. 

What is it ? ” 

Why, if your Gospel is not strong enough to save one 
heathen child, that you can have at home here, all to your- 
self, what’s the use of sending one or two poor missionaries 
off with it among thousands of just such ? I suppose this 
child is about a fair sample of what thousands of your 
heathen are.” 

Miss Ophelia did not make an immediate answer ; and 
Eva, who had stood a silent spectator of the scene thus far, 
made a silent sign to Topsy to follow her. There was a 
little glass-room at the corner of the verandah, which St. 
Clare used as a sort of reading-room ; and Eva and Topsy 
disappeared into this place. 

What’s Eva going about, now ? ” said St. Clare ; I 
mean to see.” 

And, advancing on tip-toe, he lifted up a curtain that 
covered the glass-door and looked in. In a moment, lay- 
ing his finger on his lips, he made a silent gesture to Miss 
Ophelia to come and look. There sat the two children on 
the floor, with their side faces towards them. Topsy, with 
her usual air of careless drollery and unconcern ; but, op- 
posite to her, Eva, her whole face fervent with feeling, and 
tears in her large eyes. 

What does make you so bad, Topsy ? Why won’t you 
try and be good ? Don’t you love anybody, Topsy ? ” 

Donno nothing ’bout love ; I loves candy and sich, 
that’s all,” said Topsy. 

But you love your father and mother ? ” 

Never had none, ye know. I tolled ye that. Miss 
Eva.” 

0, I know,” said Eva, sadly ; "" but hadn’t you any 
brother, or sister, or aunt, or ” 

‘‘'No, none on ’em, — never had nothing nor nobody.” 

"^But, Topsy, if you’d only try to be good, you 
might ” 

Couldn’t never oe nothin’ but a nigger, if I was ever 
so good,” said Topsy. If I could be skinned, and come 
white, I’d try then.” 


302 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. 
Miss Ophelia would love you, if you were good/^ 

Topsy gave the short, blunt laugh that was her common 
mode of expressing incredulity. 

DonT you think so ? said Eva. 

^^No ; she canT bar me, ^cause I^m a nigger ! — sheM 
soon have a toad touch her ! There canT nobody love 
niggers, and niggers can’t do nothin’ ! 1 don’t care,” said 
Topsy, beginning to whistle. 

0 Topsy, poor child, I love you ! ” said Eva, with a 
sudden burst of feeling, and laying her little thin, white 
hand on Topsy ’s shoulder ; ‘^1 love you, because you 
haven’t had any father, or mother, or friends ; — because 
you’ve been a poor, abused child ! I love you, and I want 
you to be good. I am very unwell, Topsy, and I think I 
shan’t live a great while ; and it really grieves me, to have 
you be so naughty. I wish you would try to be good, for 
my sake ; — it’s only a little while I shall be with you.” 

The round, keen eyes of the black child were overcast 
with tears ; — ^large, bright drops rolled heavily down, one 
by one, and fell on the little white hand. Yes, in that 
moment, a ray of real belief, a ray of heavenly love, had 
penetrated the darkness of her heathen soul ! She laid her 
head down between her knees, and wept and sobbed, — 
while the beautiful child, bending over her, looked like 
the picture of some bright angel stooping to reclaim a 
sinner. 

Poor Topsy ! ” said Eva, don’t you know that Jesus 
loves all alike r He is just as willing to love you, as me. 
He loves you just as I do, — only more, because He is better. 
He will help you to be good ; and you can go to Heaven at 
last, and be an angel forever, just as much as if you were 
white. Only think of it, Topsy ! — you can be one of those 
spirits bright. Uncle Tom sings about ! ” 

^^0, dear Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva ! ” said the child ; 
I will try, I will try ; I never did care nothin’ ’bout it 
before.” 

St. Clare, at this instant, dropped the curtain. 
puts me in mind of mother,” he said to Miss Ophelia. 

It is true what she told me ; if we want to give sight to 
the blind, we must be willing to do as Christ did, — call 
them to us, our hands on them.^^ 

^^I’ve always had a prejudice against negroes,” said 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 303 

Miss Opkelia, and it’s a fact, I never could bear to have 
that child touch me ; but, I didn’t think she knew it.” 

Trust any child to find that out,” said St. Clare ; 
there’s no keeping it from them. But I believe that all 
the trying in the world to benefit a child, and all the sub- 
stantial favors you can do them, will never excite one emo- 
tion of gratitude, while that feeling of repugnance remains 
in the heart ; it’s a queer kind of a fact, — but so it is.” 

^‘1 don’t know how I can help it,” said Miss Ophelia ; 
they are disagreeable to me, — this child in particular, — 
how can I help feeling so ? ” 

^^Eva does, it seems.” 

Well, she’s so loving ! After all, though, she’s no 
more than Christlike,” said Miss Ophelia ; wish I were 
like her. She might teach me a lesson.” 

It wouldn’t be the first time a little child had been 
used to instruct an old disciple, if it were so,” said St. 
Clare. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

DEATH. 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 

In life’s early morning, hath hid from our eyes. 

Eva’s bedroom was a spacious apartment, which, like all 
the other rooms in the house, opened on to the broad 
verandah. The room communicated, on one side, with 
her father and mother’s apartment ; on the other, with 
that appropriated to Miss Ophelia. St. Clare had gratified 
his own eye and taste, in furnishing this room in a style 
that had a peculiar keeping with the character of her for 
whom it was intended. The windows were hung with cur- 
tains of rose-colored and white muslin, the floor was spread 
with a matting which had been ordered in Paris, to a pattern 
of his own device, having round it a border of rosebuds 
and leaves, and a centre-piece with full-blown roses. The 
bedstead, chairs, and lounges, were of bamboo, wrought in 
peculiarly graceful and fanciful patterns. Over the head 
of the bed was an alabaster bracket, on which a beautiful 
sculptured angel stood, with drooping wings, holding out 


304 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


a crown of myrtle-leaves. From this depended, over the 
bed, light curtains of rose-colored gauze, striped with silver, 
supplying that protection from mosquitos which is an in- 
dispensable addition to all sleeping accommodation in that 
climate. The graceful bamboo lounges were amply sup- 
plied with cushions of rose-colored damask, while over 
them, depending from the hands of sculptured figures, 
were gauze curtains similar to those of the bed. A light, 
fanciful bamboo table stood in the middle of the room, 
where a Parian vase, wrought in the shape of a white lily, 
with its buds, stood, ever filled with fiowers. On this table 
lay Eva^s books and little trinkets, with an elegantly 
wrought alabaster writing-stand, which her father had sup- 
plied to her when he saw her trying to improve herself in 
writing. There was a fireplace in the room, and on the 
marble mantel above stood a beautifully wrought statuette 
of Jesus receiving little children, and on either side marble 
vases, for which it was Tom^s pride and delight to offer 
bouquets every morning. Two or three exquisite paintings 
of children, in various attitudes, embellished the wall. In 
short, the eye could turn nowhere without meeting images 
of childhood, of beauty, and of peace. Those little eyes 
never opened in the morning light, without falling on 
something which suggested to the heart soothing and 
beautiful thoughts. 

The deceitful strength which had buoyed Eva up for a 
little while was fast passing away ; seldom and more seldom 
her light footstep was heard in the verandah, and oftener 
and oftener she was found reclined on a little lounge by the 
open window, her large, deep eyes fixed on the rising and 
falling waters of the lake. 

It was towards the middle of the afternoon, as she was 
so reclining, — her Bible half open, her little transparent 
fingers lying listlessly between the leaves, — suddenly she 
heard her mother^s voice, in sharp tones, in the verandah. 

What now, you baggage ! — what new piece of mis- 
chief ! YouVe been picking the flowers, hey and Eva 
heard the sound of a smart slap. 

Law, Missis ! — they^’s for Miss Eva,^^ she heard a voice 
say, which she knew belonged to Topsy. 

Miss Eva ! A pretty excuse I — ^you suppose she wants 
yonr flowers, you good-for-nothing nigger ? Get along off 
with you ! 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


305 


In a moment, Eva was off from her lounge, and in the 
verandah. 

0, don% mother ! I should like the flowers ; do give 
them to me ; I want them ! ” 

Why, Eva, your room is full now.^^ 
can^t have too many,” said Eva. ^^Topsy, do bring 
them here.” 

Topsy, who had stood sullenly, holding down her head, 
now came up and offered her flowers. She did it with a 
look of hesitation and bashfulness, quite unlike the el- 
drich boldness and brightness which was usual with her. 

It^s a beautiful bouquet ! ” said Eva, looking at it. 

It was rather a singular one, — a brilliant scarlet gerani- 
um, and one single white japonica, with its glossy leaves. 
It was tied up with an evident eye to the contrast of color, 
and the arrangement of every leaf had carefully been 
studied. 

Topsy looked pleased, as Eva said, — Topsy, you arrange 
flowers very prettily. Here,” she said, ‘^is this vase I 
havenT any flowers for. I wish you^d arrange something 
every day for it.” 

Well, that^s odd !” said Marie. What in the world 
do you want that for ? ” 

Never mind, mamma ; youM as lief as not Topsy 
should do it, — had you not?” 

‘‘ Of course, anything you please, dear ! Topsy, you 
hear your young mistress — see that you mind.” 

Topsy made a short courtesy, and looked down ; and, as 
she turned away, Eva saw a tear roll down her dark cheek. 

You see, mamma, I knew poor Topsy wanted to do 
something for me,” said Eva to her mother. 

0, nonsense ! it^s only because she likes to do mis- 
chief. She knows she mustn’t pick flowers, so she does 
it ; that’s all there is to it. But if you fancy to have her 
pluck them, so be it.” 

Mamma, I think Topsy is different from what she used 
to be ; she’s trying to be a good girl.” 

She’ll have to try a good while before s?ie gets to be 
good,” said Marie, with a careless laugh. 

^^Well, you know, mamma, poor Topsy ! everything has 
always been against her.” 

'^Not since she’s been here, I’m sure. If she hasn't 
been talked to, and preached to, and every earthly thing 

20 


306 


UNCLE T0M^8 CABIN; OR, 


done that anybody could do ; — and she^s just so ngly, and 
always will be ; you can^t make anything of the creature ! 

^‘^But, mamma, it’s so different to be brought up as I\e 
been, with so many friends, so many things to make me 
good and happy ; and to be brought up as she^s been, all 
the time, till she came here ! ” 

Most likely,^'’ said Marie, yawning, — dear me, how 
hot it is ! ” 

Mamma, you believe, don^t you, that Topsy could be- 
come an angel, as well as any of us, if she were a Christian ? 

Topsy ! what a ridiculous idea ! Nobody but you would 
ever think of it. I suppose she could, though. 

But, mamma, isnT God her Father, as much as ours ? 
IsnT Jesus her Saviour ? ” 

Well, that may be. I suppose God made everybody," 
said Marie. Where is my smelling-bottle ? " 

IFs such a pity, — oh ! such a pity ! " said Eva, looking 
out on the distant lake, and speaking half to herself. 

WhaCs a pity ? " said Marie. 

Why, that any one, who could be a bright angel, and 
live with angels, should go all down, down, down, and no- 
body help them ! — oh, dear ! " 

Well, we canT help it ; iCs no use worrying, Eva ! I 
donT know whaffs to be done ; we ought to be thankful 
for our own advantages." 

I hardly can be," said Eva, ‘‘ Em so sorry to think of 
poor folks that havenT any." 

^‘^ThaEs odd enough," said Marie; — ^‘^Fm sure my 
religion makes me thankful for my advantages." 

Mamma," said Eva, I want to have some of my hair 
cut off, — a good deal of it." 

What for ?" said Marie. 

Mamma, I want to give some away to my friends, 
while I am able to give it to them myself. WonT you ask 
aunty to come and cut it for me ? " 

Marie raised her voice, and called Miss Ophelia, from the 
other room. 

The child half rose from her pillow as she came in, and, 
shaking down her long golden-brown curls, said, rather 
playfully, Come, aunty, shear the sheep ! " 

WhaEs that ? " said St. Clare, who just then entered 
with some fruit he had been out to get for her. 

Papa, I just want aunty to cut off some of my hair 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


807 


there’s too much of it, and it makes my head hot. Be- 
sides, I want to give some of it away.” 

Miss Ophelia came, with her scissors. 

Take care, — don’t spoil the looks of it ! ” said her 
father ; cut underneath, where it won’t show. Eva’s 
curls are my pride.” 

“0, papa !” said Eva, sadly. 

Yes, and I want them kept handsome against the time 
I take you up to your uncle’s plantation, to see Cousin 
Henrique,” said St. Clare, in a gay tone. 

I shall never go there, papa ; — I am going to a better 
country. 0, do believe me ! Don’t you see, papa, that I 
get weaker, every day ? ” 

Why do you insist that I shall believe such a cruel 
thing, Eva ? ” said her father. 

‘^VOnly because it is true, papa ; and if you will believe 
it now, perhaps you will get to feel about it as I do.” 

St. Clare closed his lips, and stood gloomily eyeing the 
long, beautiful curls, which, as they were separated from 
the child’s head, were laid, one by one, in her lap. She 
raised them up, looked earnestly at them, twined them 
around her thin fingers, and looked, from time to time, 
anxiously at her father. 

^^It’s just what I’ve been foreboding !” said Marie ; ‘^^it’s 
just what has been preying on my health, from day to day, 
bringing me downward to the grave, though nobody regards 
it. I have seen this, long. St. Clare, you will see, after a 
while, that I was right.” 

^ ^ AVhich will afford you great consolation, no doubt ! ” 
said St. Clare, in a dry, bitter tone. 

Marie lay back on a lounge, and covered her face with 
her cambric handkerchief. 

Eva’s clear blue eye looked earnestly from one to the 
other. It was the calm, comprehending gaze of a soul half 
loosed from its earthly bonds ; it was evident she saw, felt, 
and appreciated, the difference between the two. 

She beckoned with her hand to her father. He came, 
and sat down by her. 

Papa, my strength fades away every day, and I know I 
must go. There are some things I want to say and do, — 
that I ought to do ; and you are so unwilling to have me 
speak a word on this subject. But it must come ; there’s 
no putting it off. Do be willing I should speak now 1 ” 


308 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


My child, I am willing ! said St. Clare, covering his 
eyes with one hand, and holding up Evan’s hand with the 
other. 

Then, I want to see all our people together. I have 
some things I must say to them,'’^ said Eva. 

“ Well” said St. Clare, in a tone of dry endurance. 

Miss Ophelia despatched a messenger, and soon the whole 
of the servants were convened in the room. 

Eva lay back on her pillows ; her hair hanging loosely 
about her face, her crimson cheeks contrasting painfully 
with the intense whiteness of her complexion and the thin 
contour of her limbs and features, and her large, soul-like 
eyes fixed earnestly on every one. 

The servants were struck with a sudden emotion. The 
spiritual face, the long locks of hair cut off and lying by 
her, her father^s averted face and Marie^s sobs, struck at 
once upon the feelings of a sensitive and impressible race ; 
and, as they came in, they looked one on another, sighed, 
and shook their heads. There was a deep silence, like that 
of a funeral. 

Eva raised herself, and looked long and earnestly round 
at every one. All looked sad and apprehensive. Many of 
the women hid their faces in their aprons. 

I sent for you all, my dear friends,’’^ said Eva, because 
I love you. I love you all ; and I have something to say to 
you, which I want you always to remember. ... I am 
going to leave you. In a few more weeks, you will see me 
no more ” 

Here the child was interrupted by bursts of groans, sobs, 
and lamentations, which broke from all present, and in 
which her slender voice was lost entirely. She waited a 
moment, and then, speaking in a tone that checked the 
sobs of all, she said. 

If you love me, you must not interrupt me so. Listen 
to what I say. I want to speak to you about your souls. 

. . . Many of you, I am afraid, are very careless. You 
are thinking only about this world. I want you to re- 
member that there is a beautiful world, where Jesus is. I 
am going there, and vou can go there. It is for you, as 
much as me. But, if you want to go there, you must not 
live idle, careless, thoughtless lives. You must be Chris- 
tians. You must remember that each one of you can be- 
come angels, and be angels forever. ... If you want to be 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


309 


Christians, Jesus will help you. You must pray to Him 5 
you must read ” 

The child checked herself, looked piteously at them, and 
said, sorrowfully, 

^'0, dear ! you canH read, — poor souls !” and she hid 
her face in the pillow and sobbed, while many a smothered 
sob from those she was addressing, who were kneeling on 
the floor, aroused her. 

Never mind,^^ she said, raising her face and smiling 
brightly through her tears, I have prayed for you ; and 
I know Jesus will help you, even if you canT read. Try 
all to do the best you can ; pray every day ; ask Him to 
help you, and get the Bible read to you whenever you can ; 
and I think I shall see you all in heaven. 

^^Amen,^^ was the murmured response from the lips 
of Tom and Mammy, and some of the elder ones, who 
belonged to the Methodist church. The younger and more 
thoughtless ones, for the time completely overcome, were 
sobbing, with their heads bowed upon their knees. 

I know/'’ said Eva, you all love me.’'’ * 

Yes ; oh, yes ! indeed we do ! Lord bless her ! " was 
the involuntary answer of all. 

Yes, I know you do ! There isn’t one of you that hasn’t 
always been very kind to me ; and I want to give you some- 
thing that, when you look at, you shall always remember me. 
I’m going to give all of you a curl of my hair ; and, when 
you look at it, think that I loved you and am gone to 
heaven, and that I want to see you all there.” 

It is impossible to describe the scene, ^s, with tears and 
sobs, they gathered round the little creature, and took from 
her hands what seemed to them a last mark of her love. 
They fell on their knees ; they sobbed, and prayed, and 
kissed the hem of her garment ; and the elder ones poured 
forth words of endearment, mingled in prayers and bless- 
ings, after the manner of their susceptible race. 

As each one took their gift. Miss Ophelia, who was ap- 
prehensive for the effect of all this excitement on her little 
patient, signed to each one to pass out of the apart- 
ment. 

At last, all were gone but Tom and Mammy. 

Here, Uncle Tom,” said Eva, is a beautiful one for 
you. 0, I am so happy. Uncle Tom, to think I shall see 
you in heaven, — for I’m sure I shall ; and Mammy, — dear, 


310 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


good, kind Mammy ! ” she said, fondly throwing her arms 
around her old nurse , — ‘‘ I know you^’ll be there, too.” 

0, Miss Eva, don't see how I can live without ye, no- 
how ! ” said the faithful creature. 'Pears like it's just 
taking everything off the place to oncet ! '' and Mammy 
gave way to a passion of grief. 

Miss Ophelia pushed her and Tom gently from the 
apartment, and thought they were all gone ; but, as she 
turned, Topsy was standing there. 

Where did you start up from ?'' she said, suddenly. 

I was here,'' said Topsy, wiping the tears from her 
eyes. 0 Miss Eva, I've been a bad girl ; but won't you 
give me one, too ? '' 

Yes, poor Topsy ! to be sure, I will. There — every 
time you look at that, think that I love you, and wanted 
you to be a good girl ! '' 

0 Miss Eva, I is try in' ! '' said Topsy, earnestly ; 

but. Lor, it's so hard to be good ! 'Pears like I an't used 
to it, no ways ! '' 

Jesus knows it, Topsy ; He is sorry for you ; He will 
help you.'' 

Topsy, with her eyes hid in her apron, was silently 
passed from the apartment by Miss Ophelia ; but, as she 
went, she hid the precious curl in her bosom. 

All being gone. Miss Ophelia shut the door. That 
worthy lady had wiped away many tears of her own, during 
the scene ; but concern for the consequence of such an ex- 
citement to her young charge was uppermost in her mind. 

St. Clare had been sitting, during the whole time, with 
his hand shading his eyes, in the same attitude. When 
they were all gone, he sat so still. 

Papa ! '' said Eva, gently, laying her hand on his. 

He gave a sudden start and shiver ; but made no answer. 

Hear papa ! '' said Eva. 

cannot” said St. Clare, rising, ^^\cannot have it so ! 
The Almighty hath dealt very Uti ’ ' ' ’ ! '' and St. 



Clare pronounced these words 
indeed. 


emphasis. 


Augustine ! has not God a right to do what He will 
with his own ? '' said Miss Ophelia. 

Perhaps so ; but that doesn't make it any easier to 
bear,'' said he, with a dry, hard, tearless manner, as he 
turned away. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 311 

Papa, you break my heart ! said Eva, rising and 
throwing herself into his arms ; you must not feel so ! ^ 
and the child sobbed and wept with a violence which 
alarmed them all, and turned her f ather^s thoughts at once 
to another channel. 

“ There, Eva, — there, dearest ! Hush ! hush ! I was 
wrong ; I was wicked. I will feel any way, do any way,— 
only donT distress yourself ; donT sob so. I will be re- 
signed ; I was wicked to speak as I did.” 

Eva soon lay like a wearied dove in her father^s arms ; 
and he, bending over her, soothed her by every tender word 
he could think of. 

Marie rose and threw herself out of the apartment into 
her own, when she fell into violent hysterics. 

You diduT give me a curl, Eva, said her father, smil- 
ing sadly. 

They are all yours, papa,” said she, smiling, — yours 
and mammals ; and you must give dear aunty as many as 
she wants. I only gave them to our poor people myself, 
because you know, papa, they might be forgotten when I 
am gone, and because I hoped it might help them remem- 
ber. ... You are a Christian, are you not, papa ?” said 
Eva, doubtfully. 

Why do you ask me ? ” 

I donT know. You are so good, I donT see how you 
can help it.” 

What is being a Christian, Eva ? ” 

Loving Christ most of all,” said Eva. 

^^Do you, Eva ?” 

Certainly, I do.” 

‘^^You never saw Him,” said St. Clare. 

That makes no difference,” said Eva. I believe Him, 
and in a few days I shall see Him ; ” and the young face 
grew fervent, radiant with joy. 

St. Clare said no more. It was a feeling which he had 
seen before in his mother ; but no chord within vibrated 
to it. 

Eva after this, declined rapidly ; there was no more any 
doubt of the event ; the fondest hope could not be blinded. 
Her beautiful room was avowedly a sick room ; and Miss 
Ophelia day and night performed the duties of a nurse, — 
and never did her friends appreciate her value more than in 
jhat capacity. With so well-trained a hand and eye, such 


312 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


perfect adroitness and practice in every art which could 
promote neatness and comfort, and keep out of sight every 
disagreeable incident of sickness, — with such a perfect 
sense of time, such a clear, untroubled head, such exact 
accuracy in remembering every prescription and direction 
of the doctors, — she was everything to him. They who 
had shrugged their shoulders at her little peculiarities and 
setnesses, so unlike the careless freedom of southern man- 
ners, acknowledged that now she was the exact person that 
was wanted. 

Uncle Tom was much in Eva’s room. The child suffered 
much from nervous restlessness, and it was a relief to her to 
be carried ; and it was Tom’s greatest delight to carry her 
little frail form in his arms, resting on a pillow, now up 
and down her room, now out into the verandah ; and when 
the fresh sea-breezes blew from the lake, — and the child 
felt freshest in the morning, — he would sometimes walk 
with her under the orange-trees in the garden, or, sitting 
down in some of their old seats, sing to her their favorite 
old hymns. 

Her father often did the same thing ; but his frame was 
slighter, and when he was weary, Eva would say to him, 

0, papa, let Tom take me. Poor fellow ! it pleases 
him ; and you know it’s all he can do now, and he wants 
to do something ! ” 

So do I, Eva ! ” said her father. 

Well, papa, you can do everything, and are everything 
to me. You read to me, — you sit up nights, — and Tom 
has only this one thing, and his singing ; and I know, too, 
he does it easier than you can. He carries me so strong ! ” 

The desire to do something was not confined to Tom. 
Every servant in the establishment showed the same feel- 
ing, and in their way did what they could. 

Poor Mammy’s heart yearned towards her darling ; but 
she found no opportunity, night or day, as Marie declared 
that the state of her mind was such, it was impossible for 
her to rest ; and, of course, it was against her principles to 
let any one else rest. Twenty times in a night. Mammy 
would be roused to rub her feet, to bathe her head, to find 
her pocket-handkerchief, to see what the noise was in 
Eva’s room, to let down a curtain because it was too light, 
or to put it up because it was too dark ; and, in the day- 
time, when she longed to have some share in the nursing 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


313 


of her pet, Marie seemed unusually ingenious in keeping 
her busy anywhere and everywhere all over the house, or 
about her own person ; so that stolen interviews and 
momentary glimpses were all she could obtain. 

I feel it my duty to be particularly careful of myself, 
now,^^ she would say, feeble as I am, and with the whole 
care and nursing of that dear child upon me." 

"^Indeed, my dear," said St. Clare, ^‘1 thought our 
cousin relieved you of that." 

You talk like a man, St. Clare, — just as if a mother 
cotdd be relieved of the care of a child in that state ; but, 
then, it’s all alike, — no one ever knows what I feel ! I 
can^t throw things off, as you do." 

St. Clare smiled. You must excuse him, he couldn^t 
help it, — for St. Clare could smile yet. For so bright and 
placid was the farewell voyage of the little spirit, — ^by such 
sweet and fragrant breezes was the small bark borne to 7 
wards the heavenly shores, — that it was impossible to real- 
ize that it was death that was approaching. The child 
felt no pain, — only a tranquil, soft weakness, daily and al- 
most insensibly increasing ; and she was so beautiful, so 
loving, so trustful, so happy, that one could not resist the 
soothing influence of that air of innocence and peace which 
seemed to breathe around her. St. Clare found a strange 
calm coming over him. It was not hope, — that was im- 
possible ; it was not resignation ; it was only a calm rest- 
ing in the present, which seemed so beautiful that he 
wished to think of no future. It was like that hush of spirit 
which we feel amid the bright, mild woods of autumn, 
when the bright hectic flush is on the trees, and the last 
lingering flowers by the brook ; and we joy in it all 
the more, because we know that soon it will all pass 
away. 

The friend who knew most of Evan’s own imaginings and 
foreshadowings was her faithful bearer, Tom. To him 
she said what she would not disturb her father by saying. 
To him she imparted those mysterious intimations which 
the soul feels, as the cords begin to unbind, ere it leaves its 
clay forever. 

Tom, at last, would not sleep in his room, but lay all 
night in the outer verandah, ready to rouse at every 
call. 

Uncle Tom, what alive have you taken to sleeping any- 


814 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


where and everywhere, like a dog for ? said Miss Ophelia. 

I thought you ’was one of the orderly sort, that liked ta 
lie in bed in a Christian way.'’^ 

I do. Miss Feely,"^ said Tom, mysteriously. I do, 
but now 

^"Well, what now ?” 

We mustn^t speak loud ; Mas^r St. Clare won’t hear 
on’t ; but. Miss Feely, you know there must be somebody 
watchin’ for the bridegroom.” 

What do you mean, Tom ? ” 

You know it says in Scripture, ^ At midnight there 
was a great cry made. Behold, the bridegroom cometh.’ 
That’s what Fm spectin’ now, every night. Miss Feely, — 
and I couldn’t sleep out o’ bearin’, no ways.” 

Why, Uncle Tom, what makes you think so ? ” 

Miss Eva, she talks to me. The Lord, he sends his 
messenger in the soul. I must be thar. Miss Feely ; for 
when that ar blessed child goes into the kingdom, they’ll 
open the door so wide, we’ll all get a look in at the glory, 
Miss Feely.” 

Uncle Tom, did Miss Eva say she felt more unwell 
than usual to-night ? ” 

No ; but she telled me this morning, she was coming 
nearer, — thar’s them that tells it to the child. Miss Feely. 
It’s the angels, — ^ it’s the trumpet sound before the break 
o’ day,’ ” said Tom, quoting from a favorite hymn. 

This dialogue passed between Miss Ophelia and Tom, 
between ten and eleven, one evening, after her arrange- 
ments had all been made for the night, when, on going to 
bolt her outer door, she found Tom stretched along by it, 
in the outer verandah. 

She was not nervous or impressible ; but the solemn, 
heartfelt manner struck her. Eva had been unusually 
bright and cheerful that afternoon, and had sat raised in 
her bed, and looked over all her little trinkets and precious 
things, and designated the friends to whom she would have 
them given ; and her manner was more animated, and her 
voice more natural, than they had known it for _weeks. 
Her father had been in, in the evening, and had said that 
Eva appeared more like her former self than ever she had 
done since her sickness ; and when he kissed her for tlie 
night he said to Miss Ophelia, — Cousin, we may keep her 
"«5ith us, after all ; she is certainly better ; ” and he had 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


315 


retired with a lighter heart in his bosom than he had had 
there for weeks. 

But at midnight, — strange, mystic hour ! — when the 
veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows 
thin, — then came the messenger ! 

There was a sound in that chamber, first of one who 
stepped quickly. It was Miss Ophelia, who had resolved 
to sit up all night with her little charge, and who, at the 
turn of the night, had discerned what experienced nurses 
significantly call achange.^^ The outer door was quickly 
opened, and Tom, who was watching outside, was on the 
alert, in a moment. 

^‘'(xo for the doctor, Tom! lose not a moment,^'’ said 
Miss Ophelia ; and, stepping across the room, she rapped 
at St. Clarets door. 

Cousin, she said,* I wish you would come.” 

These words fell on his heart like clods upon a coffin. 
Why did they ? He was up and in the room in an instant, 
and bending over Eva, who still slept. 

What was it he saw that made his heart stand still ? 
Why was no word spoken between the two ? Thou canst 
say, who hast seen that same expression on the face dear- 
est to thee ; — that look indescribable, hopeless, unmistak- 
able, that says to thee that thy beloved is no longer thine. 

On the face of the child, however, there was no ghastly 
imprint, — only a high and almost sublime expression, — 
the overshadowing presence of spiritual natures, the dawn- 
ing of immortal life in that childish soul. 

They stood lliere so still, gazing upon her, that even the 
ticking of the watch seemed too loud. In a few moments, 
Tom returned, with the doctor. He entered, gave one 
look, and stood silent as the rest. 

When did this change take place ? ” said he, in a low 
whisper, to Miss Ophelia. 

About the turn of the night,” was the reply. 

Marie, roused by the entrance of the doctor, appeared, 
hurriedly, from the next room. 

Augustine I Cousin ! — 0 I — what ! ” she hurriedly 
began. 

Hush I” said St. Clare, hoarsely ; she is dying 

Mammy heard the words, and flew to awaken the serv- 
ants. The house was soon roused, — lights were seen, 
footsteps heard, anxious faces thronged the verandah, and 


316 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


looked tearfully through the glass doors ; but St. Clare 
heard and said nothing, — he saw only that look on the face 
of the little sleeper. 

0, if she would only wake, and speak once more ! he 
said ; and, stooping over her, he spoke in her ear, — ‘ ^ Eva 
darling ! 

The large blue eyes unclosed, — a smile passed over her 
face ; — she tried to raise her head, and to speak. 

Do you know me, Eva ? 

Dear papa,^^ said the child, with a last effort throwing 
her arms about his neck. In a moment they dropped 
again ; and, as St. Clare raised his head, he saw a spasm 
of mortal agony pass over the face, — she struggled for breath 
and threw up her little hands. 

^^0 God, this is dreadful he said, turning away in 
agony, and wringing Tom^s hand, scarce conscious what 
he was doing. 0 Tom, my boy, it is killing me ! ” 

Tom had his master’s hands between his own ; and, with 
tears streaming down his dark cheeks, looked up for help 
where he had always been used to look. 

Pray that this may be cut short ! " said St. Clare, — 
‘‘ this wrings my heart.” 

0, bless the Lord ! it’s over, — it’s over, dear Master !” 
said Tom ; ^^look at her.” 

The child lay panting on her pillows, as one exhausted, 
— the large clear eyes rolled up and fixed. Ah, what said 
those eyes, that spoke so much of heaven ? Earth was 
past, and earthly pain ; but so solemn, so mysterious, was 
the triumphant brightness of that face, that it checked 
even the sobs of sorrow. They pressed around her, in 
breathless stillness. 

Eva,” said St. Clare, gently. 

She did not hear. 

0 Eva, tell us what you see ! What is it ? ” said her 
father. 

A bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, and she 
said, brokenly, — 0 ! love, — ^joy, — peace ! ” gave one sigh, 
and passed from death unto life ! 

Farewell, beloved child ! the bright eternal doors have 
closed after thee ; we shall see thy sweet face no more. 
0, woe for them who watched thy entrance into heaven, 
when they shall wake and find only the cold gray sky of daily 
life, and thou gone forever ! ” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


811 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

^^THis IS THE LAST OF EARTH. — John Q. Adams. 

The statuettes and pictures in Eva^s room were shroud- 
ed in white napkins, and only hushed breathings and 
muffled foot-falls were heard there, and the light stole in 
solemnly through windows partially darkened by closed 
blinds. 

The bed was draped in white ; and there, beneath the 
drooping angel-figure, lay a little sleeping form — sleeping 
never to waken ! 

There she lay, robed in one of the simple white dresses 
she had been vi^ont to wear when living ; the rose-colored 
light through the curtains cast over the icy coldness of 
death a warm glow. The heavy eyelashes drooped softly 
on the pure cheek ; the head was turned a little to one 
side, as if in natural sleep, but there was diffused over 
every lineament of the face that high celestial expression, 
that mingling of rapture and repose, which showed it was 
no earthly or temporary sleep, but the long, sacred rest 
which He giveth to his beloved.^^ 

There is no death to such as thou, dear Eva ; neither 
darkness nor shadow of death ; only such a bright fading 
as when the morning star fades in the golden dawn. Thine 
is the victory without the battle, — the crown without the 
confiict. 

So did St. Clare think, as, with folded arms, he stood 
there gazing. Ah ! who shall say what he did think ? 
for, from the hour that voices had said, in the dying 
chamber, She is gone,” it had been all a dreary mist, a 
heavy dimness of anguish.” He had heard voices around 
him ; he had had questions asked, and answered them ; 
they had asked him when he would have the funeral, and 
where they should lay her ; and he had answered, im- 
patiently, that he cared not. 

Adolph and Rosa had arranged the chamber ; volatile, 
fickle, and childish, as they generally were, they were soft- 
hearted and full of feeling ; and while Miss Ophelia pre- 
sided over the general details of order and neatness, it was 


818 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


their hands that added those soft, poetic touches to the 
arrangements, that took from the death-room the grim 
and ghastly air which too often marks a New England 
funeral. 

There were still flowers on the shelves, — all white, deli- 
cate and fragrant, with graceful, drooping leaves. Eva^s 
little table, covered with white, bore on it her favorite 
vase, with a single white moss rosebud in it. The folds 
of the drapery, the fall of the curtains, had been arranged 
and rearranged, by Adolph and Rosa, with that nicety of 
eye which characterizes their race. Even now, while St. 
Clare stood there thinking, little Rosa tripped softly into 
the chamber with a basket of white flowers. She stepped 
back when she saw St. Clare, and stopped respectfully ; 
but, seeing that he did not observe her, she came forward 
to place them around the dead. St. Clare saw her as in a 
dream, while she placed in the small hands a fair cape jes- 
samine, and, with admirable taste, disposed other flowers 
around the couch. 

The door opened again, and Topsy, her eyes swelled with 
crying, appeared, holding something under her apron. 
Rosa made a quick, forbidding gesture ; but she took a 
step into the room. 

You must go out,” said Rosa, in a sharp, positive 
whisper ; ‘‘you havenT any business here ! ” 

0, do let me ! I brought a flower, — such a pretty 
one ! ” said Topsy, holding up a half-blown tea rosebud. 
‘‘ Do let me put just one there.” 

Get along ! ” said Rosa, more decidedly. 

Let her stay ! ” said St. Clare, suddenly stamping his 
foot. “ She shall come.” 

Rosa suddenly retreated, and Topsy came forward and 
laid her offering at the feet of the corpse, then suddenly, 
with a wild and bitter cry, she threw herself on the floor 
alongside the bed, and wept, and moaned aloud. 

Miss Ophelia hastened into the room, and tried to raise 
and silence her ; but in vain. 

0 Miss Eva ! 0, Miss Eva ! I wish Fs dead, too, — 
Ido!” 

There was a piercing wildness in the cry ; the blood 
flushed into St. Clarets white, marble-like face, and the 
first tears he had shed since Eva died stood in his eyes. 

Get up, child,” said Miss Ophelia, in a softened voice ; 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


319 


don’t cry so. Miss Eva is gone to heaven ; she is an 
angel.” 

But I can’t see her ! ” said Topsy. I never shall 
see her !” and she sobbed again.” 

They all stood a moment in silence. 

She said she loved me,” said Topsy, — she did ! 0, 
dear ! oh, dear ! there an’t nobody left now, — there au’t ! ” 

That’s true enough,” said St. Clare ; but do,” he 
said to Miss Ophelia, see if you can’t comfort the poor 
creature.” 

jist wish I hadn’t never been born,” said Topsy. 

I didn’t want to be born no ways ; and I don’t see no ase 
on’t.” 

Miss Ophelia raised her gently, but firmly, and took her 
from the room ; but, as she did so, some tears fell from 
her eyes. 

Topsy, you poor child,” she said, as she led her into 
her room, don’t give up ! I can love you, though I am 
not like that dear little child. I hope I’ve learnt some- 
thing of the love of Christ from her. I can love you ; I do, 
and I’ll try to help you to grow up a good Christian girl.” 

Miss Ophelia’s voice was more than her words, and more 
than that were the honest tears that fell down her face. 
From that hour, she acquired an influence over the mind 
of the destitute child that she never lost. 

0, my Eva, whose little hour on earth did so much of 
good,” thought St. Clare, what account have I to give 
for my long years ? ” 

There were, for a while, soft whisperings and foot-falls 
in the chamber, as one after another stole in, to look at the 
dead ; and then came the little coffin ; and then there was 
a funeral, and carriages drove to the door, and strangers 
came and were seated ; and there were white scarfs and 
ribbons, and crape bands, and mourners dressed in black 
crape ; and there were words read from the Bible, and 
prayers offered ; and St. Clare lived, and walked, and 
moved, as one who has shed every tear ; — to the last he 
saw only one thing, that golden head in the coffin but then 
he saw the cloth spread over it, the lid of the coffin closed ; 
and he walked, when he was put beside the others, down 
to a little place at the bottom of the garden, and there, by 
the mossy seat where she and Tom had talked, and sung, 
and read so often, was the little grave. St. Clare stood 


320 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OE, 


beside it, — looked vacantly down ; lie saw them lower the 
little coffin ; he heard, dimly, the solemn word^, I am 
the resurrection and the Life ; he that believeth in me, 
though he were dead, yet shall he live ; and, as the earth 
was cast in and filled up the little grave, he could not re- 
alize that it was his Eva they were hiding from his sight. 

Nor was it ! — ^not Eva, hut only the frail seed of that 
bright, immortal form with which she shall yet come forth, 
in the day of the Lord Jesus ! 

And then all were gone, and the mourners went back to 
the place which should know her no more ; and Marie’s 
room was darkened, and she lay on the bed, sobbing and 
moaning in uncontrollable grief, and calling every moment 
for the attentions of all her servants. Of course, they had 
no time to cry, — why should they ? the grief was her grief, 
and she was fully convinced that nobody on earth did, 
could, or would feel it as she did. 

St. Clare did not shed a tear,” she said ; ^^he didn’t 
sympathize with her ; it was perfectly wonderful to think 
how hard-hearted and unfeeling he was, when he must 
know how she suffered.” 

So much are people the slave of their eye and ear that 
many of the servants really thought that Missis was the 
principal sufferer in the case, especially as Marie began to 
have hysterical spasms, and sent for the doctor, and at last 
declared herself dying ; and, in the running and scamper- 
ing and bringing up hot bottles, and heating of fiannels, 
and chafing, and fussing, that ensued, there was quite a 
diversion. 

Tom, however, had a feeling at his own heart, that drew 
him to his master. He followed him wherever he walked, 
wistfully and sadly ; and when he saw him sitting, so pale 
and quiet, in Eva’s room, holding before his eyes her little 
open Bible, though seeing no letter or word of what was in 
it, there was more sorrow to Tom in that still, fixed, tear- 
less eye, than in all Marie’s moans and lamentations. 

In a few days the St. Clare family were hack again in 
the city ; Augustine, with the restlessness of grief, longing 
for another scene, to change the current of his thoughts. 
So they left the house and garden, with its little grave, and 
came back to New Orleans ; and St. Clare walked the 
streets busily, and strove to fill up the chasm in his heart 
with hurry and bustle, and change of place ; and people 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


321 


who saw him in the street, or met him at the cafe, knew 
of his loss only by the weed on his hat ; for there he was, 
smiling and talking, and reading the newspaper, and 
speculating on politics, and attending to business matters ; 
and who could see that all this smiling outside was but a 
hollow shell over a heart that was a dark and silent 
sepulchre ? 

Mr. St. Clare is a singular man,^^ said Marie to Miss 
Ophelia, in a complaining tone. used to think, if 
there was anything in the world he did love, it was our 
dear little Eva ; but he seems to be forgetting her very 
easily. I cannot ever get him to talk about her. I really 
did think he would show more feeling ! " 

Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me,” said 
Miss Ophelia, oracularly. 

0, I don^t believe in such things ; iCs all talk. If 
people have feeling, they will show it, — they can^t help it ; 
but, then, iCs a great misfortune to have feeling. Fd rather 
have been made like St. Clare. My feelings prey upon me 
so !” 

Sure, Missis, Mash St. Clare is gettin^ thin as a shader. 
They say, he donh never eat nothing” said Mammy. I 
know he donT forget Miss Eva ; I know there couldnT no- 
body, — dear, little, blessed cretur ! ” she added, wiping 
her eyes. 

Well, at all events, he has no consideration for me,” 
said Marie ; he hasnT spoken one word of sympathy, and 
he must know how much more a mother feels than any 
man can.” 

The heart knoweth its own bitterness,” said Miss 
Ophelia, gravely. 

ThaCs just what I think. I know just what I feel, — 
nobody else seems to. Eva used to, but she is gone ! ” and 
Marie lay back on her lounge, and began to sob disconso- 
lately. 

Marie was one of those unfortunately constituted mortals, 
in whose eyes whatever is lost and gone assumes a value 
which it never had in possession. Whatever she had, she 
seemed to survey only to pick flaws in it ; but, once fairly 
away, there was no end to her valuation of it. 

While this conversation was taking place in the parlor, 
another was going on in St. Clarets library. 

Tom, who was always uneasily following his master 

21 


322 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


about, had seen him go to his library, some hours before ; 
and, after vainly waiting for him to come out, determined, 
at last, to make an errand in. He entered softly. St. 
Clare lay on his lounge, at the further end of the room. 
He was lying on his face, with Eva^s Bible open before 
him, at a little distance. Tom walked up, and stood by 
the sofa. He hesitated ; and, while he was hesitating, 
St. Clare suddenly raised himself up. The honest face, so 
full of grief, and with such an imploring expression of 
affection and sympathy, struck his master. He laid his 
hand on Tom^s, and bowed down his forehead on it. 

0 Tom, my boy, the whole world is as empty as an 
egg-shell.'’^ 

1 know it, MasT, — I know it,^^ said Tom ; but, oh, 
if MasT could only look up, — up where our dear Miss Eva 
is, — up to the dear Lord Jesus 

Ah, Tom ! I do look up ; but the trouble is, I donT 
see anything, when I do- I wish I could. 

Tom sighed heavily. 

'^It seems to be given to children, and poor, honest fel- 
lows, like you, to see what we canT,^^ said St. Clare. How 
comes it 

(c ( Tiion hast hid from the wise and prudent, and re- 
vealed unto babes,'’ murmured Tom ; ‘ even so. Father, 

for so it seemed good in thy sight. 

Tom, I donT believe, — I canT believe, — Fve got the 
habit of doubting, said St. Clare. — I want to believe 
this Bible, — and I canT.” 

Dear Mash, pray to the good Lord, ^ Lord, I believe ; 
help thou my unbelief.^ 

Who knows anything about anything ? said St. Clare, 
his eyes wandering dreamily, and speaking to himself. 
‘^Was all that beautiful love and faith only one of the 
ever-shifting phases of human feeling, having nothing real 
to rest on, passing away with the little breath ? And is 
there no more Eva, — no heaven, — no Christ, — nothing ? 

0, dear Mas’r, there is ! I know it ; Fm sure of it,” 
said Tom, falling on his knees. Do, do, dear MasT, be- 
lieve it ! ” 

How do you know there^s any Christ, Tom ? You 
never saw the Lord.” 

Felt Him in my soul, MasT, — feel Him now ! 0 

MasT, when I was sold away from my old woman and the 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


323 


children, I was jest almost broke up. I felt as if there 
warn^t nothin^ left ; and then the good Lord, He stood by 
me and He says, ^ Fear not, Tom and He brings light 
and joy into a poor feller^s soul, — makes all peace ; and 
Fs so happy, and loves everybody, and feels willin^ jest to 
be the LorFs and have the Horde’s will done, and be put 
jest where the Lord wants to put me. I know it couldnT 
come from me, cause Fs a poor, complainin^ cretur ; it 
comes from the Lord ; and I know He^s willin^ to do for 
Mas^r.^^ 

Tom spoke with fast-running tears and choking voice. 
St. Clare leaned his head on his shoulder, and wrung the 
hard, faithful, black hand. 

Tom, you love me," he said. 

Fs willin^ to lay down my life, this blessed day, to see 
Mas^r a Christian." 

Poor, foolish boy ! " said St. Clare, half -raising him- 
self. Fm not worth the love of one good, honest heart, 
like yours." 

0 Mas^r, dere^s more than me loves you, — the blessed 
Lord Jesus loves you." 

How do you know that, Tom ? " said St. Clare. 

Feels it in my soul. 0 Mas^r ! ‘ the love of Christ, 
that passeth knowledge.^" 

Singular !" said St. Clare, turning away, ‘Hhat the 
story of a man that lived and died eighteen hundred years 
ago can affect people so yet. But He was no man," he 
added, suddenly. No man ever had such long and living 
power ! 0 , that I could believe what my mother taught 

me, and pray as I did when I was a boy ! " 

‘‘IfMasT pleases," said Tom, Miss Eva used to read 
this so beautifully. I wish MasYd be so good as read it. 
HonT get no reading hardly, now Miss Evan’s gone." 

The chapter was the eleventh of J ohn, — the touching ac- 
count of the raising of Lazarus. St. Clare read it aloud, 
often pausing to wrestle down feelings which were roused 
by the pathos of the story. Tom knelt before him, with 
clasped hands, and with an absorbed expression of love, 
trust, and adoration, on his quiet face. 

Tom," said his master, this is all real to you I " 

1 can jest fairly see it, MasT," said Tom. 

I wish I had your eyes, Tom." 

dear 


324 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


But, Tom, yon know that I have a great deal more 
knowledge than you ; what if I should tell you that I donT 
believe this Bible ? 

^^0 Mas^r \” said Tom, holding up his hands, with a 
deprecating gesture. 

‘‘ WouldnT it shake your faith some, Tom 

Not a grain, said Tom. 

Why, Tom, you must know I know the most.^^ 

0 Mas^r, have nT you jest read how He hides from the 
wise and prudent, and reveals unto babes ? But Mas^'r 
wasnT in earnest, for sartin, now ? said Tom, anxionsly. 

^^No, Tom, I was not. I donT disbelieve, and I think 
there is reason to believe ; and still I donT. It^s a trouble- 
some bad habit Fve got, Tom.” 

If Mas^r would only pray ! ” 

How do you know I don\ Tom ? ” 

Does Mas^r ? ” 

1 would, Tom, if there was anybody there when I pray ; 
but it’s all speaking unto nothing, when I do. But come, 
Tom, you pray now, and show me how.” 

Tom’s heart was full ; he poured it out in prayer, like 
waters that have been long suppressed. One thing was 
plain enough ; Tom thought there was somebody to hear, 
whether there were or not. In fact, St. Clare felt himself 
borne, on the tide of his faith and feeling, almost to the 
gates of that heaven he seemed so vividly to conceive. It 
seemed to bring him nearer to Eva. 

Thank you, my boy,” said St. Clare, when Tom rose. 

I like to hear you, Tom ; but go, now, and leave me 
alone ; some other time. I’ll talk more.” 

Tom silently left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

REUNIOl^. 

AYeek after week glided away in the St. Clare mansion, 
and the waves of life settled back to their usual flow, where 
that little bark had gone down. For how imperiously, how 
coolly, in disregard of all one’s feeling, does the hard, cold, 
uninteresting course of daily realities move on ! Still 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


325 


must we eat, and drink, and sleep, and wake again, — still 
bargain, buy, sell, ask and answer questions, — pursue, in 
short, a thousand shadows, though all interest in them be 
over ; the cold mechanical habit of living remaining, after 
all vital interest in it has fled. 

All the interests and hopes of St. Clarets life had un- 
consciously wound themselves round this child. It was 
for Eva that he had managed his property ; it was for 
Eva that he had planned the disposal of his time ; and, to 
do this and that for Eva, — to buy, improve, alter, and ar- 
range, or dispose something for her, — had been so long his 
habit, that now she was gone, there seemed nothing to be 
thought of, and nothing to be done. 

True, there was another life, — a life which, once believed 
in, stands as a solemn, significant figure before the other- 
wise unmeaning ciphers of time, changing them to orders 
of mysterious, untold value. St. Clare knew this well ; and 
often, in many a weary hour, he heard that slender, child- 
ish voice calling him to the skies, and saw that little hand 
pointing to him the way of life ; but a heavy lethargy of 
sorrow lay on him, — he could not arise. He had one of 
those natures which could better and more clearly conceive 
of religious things from its own perceptions and instincts, 
than many a matter-of-fact and practical Christian. The 
gift to appreciate and the sense to feel the finer shades and 
relations of moral things, often seems an attribute of those 
whose whole life shows a careless disregard of them. Hence 
Moore, Byron, Goethe, often speak words more wisely de- 
scriptive of the true religious sentiment, than another man, 
whose whole life is governed by it. In such minds, dis- 
regard of religion is a more fearful treason, — a more deadly 
sin. 

St. Clare had never pretended to govern himself by any 
religious obligation ; and a certain fineness of nature gave 
him such an instinctive view of the extent of the require- 
ments of Christianity, that he shrank, by anticipation, from 
what he felt would be the exactions of his own conscience, 
if he once did resolve to assume them. For, so inconsistent 
is human nature, especially in the ideal, that not to under- 
take a thing at all seems better than to undertake and come 
short. 

Still St. Clare was, in many respects, another man. He 
read his little Eva^s Bible seriously and honestly ; he thought 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


S?26 

more soberly and practically of his relations to his servants, 
— enough to make him extremely dissatisfied with both his 
past and present course ; and one thing he did, soon after 
his return to New Orleans, and that was to commence the 
legal steps necessary to Tom^s emancipation, which was to 
be perfected as soon as he could get through the necessary 
formalities. Meantime, he attached himself to Tom more 
and more, every day. In all the wide world, there was 
nothing that seemed to remind him so much of Eva ; and 
he would insist on keeping him constantly about him, and, 
fastidious and unapproachable as he was with regard to his 
deeper feelings, he almost thought aloud to Tom. Nor 
would any one have wondered at it, who had seen the 
expression of affection and devotion with which Tom con- 
tinually followed his young master. 

"^Well, Tom,^^ said St. Clare, the day after he had com- 
menced the legal formalities for his enfranchisement, 
going to make a free man of you ; — so, have your trunk 
packed, and get ready to set out for Kentuck.^^ 

The sudden light of joy that shone in Tom’s face as he 
raised his hands to heaven, his emphatic Bless the Lord ! ’’ 
rather discomposed St. Clare ; he did not like it that Tom 
should be so ready to leave him. 

You haven’t had such very bad times here, that you 
need be in such a rapture, Tom,” he said, dryly. 

^^No, no, Mas’r ! ’tan’t that, — it’s bein’ a free man I 
That’s what I’m joyin’ for.” 

Why, Tom, don’t you think, for your own part, you’ve 
been better off than to be free ? ” 

No, indeed, Mas’r St. Clare,” said Tom, with a fiash of 
energy. No, indeed ! ” 

Why, Tom, you couldn’t possibly have earned, by your 
work, such clothes and such living as I have given you.” 

Knows all that, Mas’r St. Clare ; Mas’r’s been too good ; 
but, Mas’r, I’d rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor 
everything, and have ’em mine, than have the best, and 
have ’em any man’s else, — I had so, Mas’r ; I think it’s 
natur, Mas’r.” 

I suppose so, Tom, and you’ll be going off and leaving 
me, in a month or so,” he added, rather discontentedly. 

Though why you shouldn’t, no mortal knows,” he said, 
in a gayer tone ; and, getting up, he began to walk the 
floor. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


32 ? 


while Mas^r is in trouble/" said Tom. ^^Fll stay 
with Mas"r as long as he wants me, — so long as I can be any 
use/" 

•■‘Not while Fm in trouble, Tom said St. Clare, look- 
ing sadly out of the window. ... “ And when will my 

trouble be over ? "" 

“ When Mas'r St. Clare"s a Christian,"" said Tom. 

“ And you really mean to stay by till that day comes ? "" 
said St. Clare, half smiling, as he turned from the window, 
and laid his hand on Tom"s shoulder. “Ah, Tom, you 
soft, silly boy ! I won"t keep you till that day. Co home to 
your wife and children, and give my love to all."" 

“I"s faith to believe that day will come,"" said Tom, 
earnestly, and with tears in his eyes ; “ the Lord has a 
work for Mas"r."" 

“A work, hey ?"" said St. Clare ; “well, now, Tom, give 
me your views on what sort of work it is ; — let"s hear."" 

“ Why even a poor fellow like me has a work from the 
Lord ; and Mas"r St. Clare, that has larnin", and riches, 
and friends, — how much he might do for the Lord ! "" 

“ Tom, you seem to think the Lord needs a great deal 
done for him,"" said St. Clare, smiling. 

“We does for the Lord when we does for his critturs,"" 
said Tom. 

“ Good theology, Tom ; better than Dr. B. preaches, I 
dare swear,"" said St. Clare. 

The conversation was here interrupted by the announce- 
ment of some visitors. 

Marie St. Clare felt the loss of Eva as deeply as she could 
feel anything ; and, as she was a woman that had a great 
faculty of making everybody unhappy when she was, her 
immediate attendants had still stronger reason to regret the 
loss of their young mistress, whose winning ways and gentle 
intercessions had so often been a shield to them from the 
tyrannical and selfish exactions of her mother. Poor old 
Mammy, in particular, whose heart, severed from all natural 
domestic ties, had consoled itself with this one beautiful 
being, was almost heart-broken. She cried day and night, 
and was, from excess of sorrow, less skilful and alert in 
her ministrations on her mistress than usual, which drew 
down a constant storm of invectives on her defenceless 
head. 

Miss Ophelia felt the loss ; but, in her good and honest 


328 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


heart, it bore fruit unto everlasting life. She was more 
softened, more gentle ; and, though equalljr assiduous in 
every duty, it was with a chastened and quiet air, as one 
who communed with her own heart not in vain. She was 
more diligent in teaching Topsy, — taught her mainly from 
the Bible, — did not any longer shrink from her touch, or 
manifest an ill-repressed disgust, because she felt none. 
She viewed her now through the softened medium that 
Eva^s hand had first held before her e3^es, and saw in her 
'' ’ ' ^ ' , whom God had sent to be led 



Topsy did not become at once 


a saint ; but the life and death of Eva did work a marked 
change in her. The callous indifference was gone ; there 
was now sensibility, hope, desire, and the striving for good, 
— a strife irregular, interrupted, suspended oft, but yet 
renewed again. 

One day, when Topsy had been sent for by Miss Ophelia, 
she came, hastily thrusting something into her bosom. 

What are you doing there, you limh ? YouVe been 
stealing something, Fll be bound, said the imperious little 
Eosa, who had been sent to call her, seizing her, at the 
same time, roughly by the arm. 

^^You go ffong. Miss Eosa!” said Topsy, pulling from 
her ; ^^TanT none of your business I” 

^^Noneo^ your saYe!”said Eosa. I saw you hiding 
something, — I know yer tricks,” and Eosa seized her arm, 
and tried to force her hand into her bosom, while Topsy, 
enraged, kicked and fought valiantly for what she consid- 
ered her rights. The clamor and confusion of the battle 
drew Miss Ophelia and St. Clare both to the spot. 

She^s been stealing I ” said Eosa. 

I hanT neither I ” vociferated Topsy, sobbing with pas- 
sion. 

Give me that, whatever it is I ” said Miss Ophelia, 
firmly. 

Topsy hesitated ; but, on a second order, pulled out of 
her bosom a little parcel done up in the foot of one of her 
own old stockings. 

Miss Ophelia turned it out. There was a small book, 
which had been given to Topsy by Eva, containing a single 
verse of Scripture, arranged for every day in the year, and 
in a paper the curl of hair that she had given her on that 
memorable day when she had taken her last farewell. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


329 


St. Clare was a good deal affected at the sight of it : the 
little book had been rolled in a long strip of black crape, 
torn from the funeral weeds. 

What did you wrap this round the book for ? said St. 
Clare, holding up the crape. 

Cause, — cause, — cause ""twas Miss Eva. 0, don^t take 
’em away, please ! ” she said ; and, sitting flat down on the 
floor, and putting her apron over her head, she began to sob 
vehemently. 

It was a curious mixture of the pathetic and the ludicrous, 
— the little old stocking, — black crape, — text-book, — fair, 
soft curl, — and Topsy’s utter distress. 

St. Clare smiled ; but there were tears in his eyes, as he 
said. 

Come, come, — don’t cry ; you shall have them !” and, 
putting them together he threw them into her lap, and 
drew Miss Ophelia with him into the parlor. 

I really think you can make something of that concern,” 
he said, pointing with his thumb backward over his shoulder. 

Any mind that is capable of a real sorrow is capable of 
good. You must try and do something with her.” 

The child has improved greatly,” said Miss Ophelia. 

I have great hopes of her ; but, Augustine,” she said, 
laying her hand on his arm, one thing I want to ask ; 
whose is this child to be ? — yours or mine ? ” 

Why, I gave her to said Augustine. 

But not legally ; — I want her to be mine legally,” said 
Miss Ophelia. 

Whew ! Cousin,” said Augustine. What will the 
Abolition Society think ? They’ll have a day of fasting 
appointed for this backsliding, if you become a slave- 
holder ! ” 

0, nonsense ! I want her mine, that I may have a 
right to take her to the free States, and give her her liberty, 
that all I am trying to do be not undone.” 

0, cousin, what an awful ^ doing evil that good may 
come ’ ! I can’t encourage it.” 

I don’t want you to joke, but to reason,” said Miss 
Ophelia. There is no use in my trying to make this 
child a Christian child, unless I save her from all the chances 
and reverses of slavery ; and, if you really are willing I 
should have her, I want you to give me a deed of gift, oi 
some legal paper.” 


330 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


Well, well,"' said St. Clare, I will ; " and he sat down, 
and unfolded a newspaper to read. 

But I want it done now," said Miss Ophelia. 

What's your hurry ? " 

Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing 
in," said Miss Ophelia. Come, now, here's paper, pen, 
and ink ; just write a paper." 

St. Clare, like most men of his class of mind, cordially 
hated the present tense of action, generally ; and therefore, 
he was considerably annoyed by Miss Ophelia's downright- 
ness. 

Why, what's the matter ? " said he. Can't you take 
my word ? One would think you had taken lessons of the 
Jews, coming at a fellow so ! " 

I want to make sure of it," said Miss Ophelia. You 
may die, or fail, and then Topsy be hustled off to auction, 
spite of all I can do." 

‘ Really, you are quite provident. W ell, seeing I'm in the 
hands of a Yankee, there is nothing for it but to concede ; " 
and St. Clare rapidly wrote off a deed of gift, which, as he 
was well versed in the forms of law, he could easily do, and 
signed his name to it in sprawling capitals, concluding by a 
tremendous flourish. 

There, isn't that black and white, now. Miss Ver- 
mont ? " he said, as he handed it to her. 

Good boy," said Miss Ophelia, smiling. But must 
it not be witnessed ? " 

^^0, bother ! — yes. Here," he said, opening the door 
into Marie's apartment, Marie, cousin wants your auto- 
graph ; just put your name down here." 

What's this ? " said Marie, as she ran over the paper. 

Ridiculous ! I thought cousin was too pious for such 
horrid things," she added, as she carelessly wrote her name ; 
^^but, if she has a fancy for that article, I'm sure she's 
welcome." 

There, now, she's yours body and soul," said St. Clare, 
handing the paper. 

No more mine now than she was before," said Miss 
Ophelia. Nobody but God has a right to give her to me ; but 
I can protect her now." 

Well, she's yours by a Action of law, then," said St. Clare, 
as he turned back into the parlor, and sat down to his 
paper. 


LIFE AMONG TEE LOWLY. 


331 


Miss Ophelia, who seldom sat much in Marie^s company, 
followed him into the parlor, having first carefully laid 
away the paper. 

Augustine,^^ she said, suddenly, as she sat knitting, 

have you ever made any provisions for your servants, in 
case of your death ? 

No, said St. Clare, as he read on. 

Then all your indulgence to them may prove a great 
cruelty, by and bye.'’^ 

St. Clare had often thought the same thing himself ; but 
he answered, negligently. 

Well, I mean to make a provision, by and bye.^^ 

When said Miss Ophelia. 

0, one of these days.^^ 

What if you should die first ? 

Cousin, what^s the matter ? " said St. Clare, laying 
down his paper and looking at her. Do you think 
I show symptoms of yellow fever or cholera, that 
you are making post-mortem arrangements with such 
zeal ? ” 

the midst of life we are in death,^^^ said Miss 

Ophelia. 

St. Clare rose up, and laying the paper down carelessly, 
walked to the door that stood open on the verandah, to 
put an end to a conversation that was not agreeable to 
him. Mechanically, he repeated the last word again, — 
‘‘ Death !'^ — and, as he leaned against the railings, and 
watched the sparkling water as it rose and fell in the 
fountain; and, as in a dim and dizzy haze, saw fiowers 
and trees and vases of the courts, he repeated again the 
mystic word so common in every mouth, yet of such fear- 
ful power, — Death \ Strange that there should be 
such a word,^^ he said, and such a thing, and we ever 
forget it ; that one should be living, warm and beautiful, 
full of hopes, desires and wants, one day, and the next be 
gone, utterly gone, and forever ! 

It was a warm, golden evening ; and, as he walked 
to the other end of the verandah, he saw Tom busily in- 
tent on his Bible, pointing, as he did so, with his finger 
to each successive word, and whispering them to himself 
with an earnest air. 

Want me to read to you, Tom said St. Clare, seat- 
ing himself carelessly by him. 


332 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


If Mas^r pleases/^ said Tom, gratefully, Mas^r makes 
it so much plainer/^ 

St. Clare took the book and glanced at the place, and 
began reading one of the passages which Tom had desig- 
nated by the heavy marks around it. It ran as follows : 

When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all 
his holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the 
throne of his glory : and before him shall be gathered all 
nations ; and he shall separate them one from another, as 
a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats. St. Clare 
read on in an animated voice, till he came to the last of 
the verses. 

Then shall the king say unto them on his left hand. 
Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire : for I 
was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat : I was thirsty, 
and ye gave me no drink ; I was a stranger, and ye took 
me not in : naked, and ye clothed me not : I was sick, 
and in prison, and ye visited me not. Then shall they 
answer unto him. Lord when saw we thee an hungered, 
or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, 
and did not minister unto thee ? Then shall he say unto 
them. Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these 
my brethren, ye did it not to me.’’^ 

St. Clare seemed struck with this last passage, for he 
read it twice, — the second time slowly, and as if he were 
revolving the words in his mind. 

^^Tom,” he said, these folks that get such hard meas- 
ure seem to have been doing just what I have, — living 
good, easy, respectable lives ; and not troubling them- 
selves to inquire how many of their brethren were hungry 
or athirst, or sick, or in prison. 

Tom did not answer. 

St. Clare rose up and walked thoughtfully up and down 
the verandah, seeming to forget everything in his own 
thoughts ; so absorbed was he, that Tom had to remind 
him twice that the tea-bell had rung, before he could get 
his attention. 

St. Clare was absent and thoughtful, all tea-time. After 
tea, he and Marie and Miss Ophelia took possession of the 
parlor, almost in silence. 

Marie disposed herself on a lounge, under a silken mos- 
quito curtain, and was soon sound asleep. Miss Ophelia 
silently busied herself with her knitting. St. Clare sat 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


333 


down to the piano, and began playing a soft and 
melancholy movement with the ^olian accompaniment. 
He seemed in a deep reverie, and to be soliloquizing to 
himself by music. After a little, he opened one of the 
drawers, took out an old music-hook whose leaves were 
yellow with age, and began turning it over. 

There, he said to Miss Ophelia, this was one ot 
my mother^s books, — and here is her handwriting, — come 
and look at it. She copied and arranged this from Mozart’s 
Requiem.” Miss Ophelia came accordingly. 

It was something she used to sing often,” said St. 
Clare. I think I can hear her now.” 

He struck a few majestic chords, and began singing that 
grand old Latin piece, the Dies Ir®.” 

Tom, who was listening in the outer verandah, was 
drawn by the sound to the very door, where he stood earn- 
estly. He did not understand the words, of course ; but 
the music and manner of singing appeared to affect him 
strongly, especially when St. Clare sang the more pathetic 

E arts. Tom would have sympathized more heartily, if he 
ad known the meaning of the beautiful words : 

Recordare Jesu pie 
Quod sum causa tuae vise 
Ne me perdas, ilia die 
Querens me sedisti lassus 
Redemisti crucem passus 
Tantus labor non sit cassus.* 

St. Clare threw a deep and pathetic expression into 
the words ; for the shadowy veil of years seemed drawn 
away, and he seemed to hear his mother’s voice leading 
his. Voice and instrument seemed both living, and threw 
out with vivid sympathy those strains which the ethereal 
Mozart first conceived as his own dying requiem. 

When St. Clare had done singing, he sat leaning his head 

* These lines have been thus rather inadequately translated. 

Think, O Jesus, for what reason 

Thou endured’st earth’s spite and treason, 

Nor me lose, in that dread season ; 

Seeking me, thy worn feet hasted, 

On the cross thy soul death tasted. 

Let not all these toils be wasted. 


334 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


upon his hand a few moments, and then began walking 
up and down the floor. 

^^What a sublime conception is that of a last judg- 
ment ! said he, — a righting of all the wrongs of ages ! 
• — a solving of all moral problems, by an unanswerable 
wisdom ! It is, indeed, a wonderful image." 

It is a fearful one to us," said Miss Ophelia. 

^^It ought to be to me, I suppose," said St. Clare, 
stopping, thoughtfully. ^^I was reading to Tom, this 
afternoon, that chapter in Matthew that gives an account 
of it, and I have been quite struck with it. One should 
have expected some terrible enormities charged to those 
who are excluded from Heaven, as the reason ; hut no, 
— they are condemned for not doing positive good, as if 
that included every possible harm." 

Perhaps," said Miss Ophelia, it is impossible for a 
person who does no good not to do harm." 

And what," said St. Clare, speaking abstractedly, hut 
with deep feeling, what shall he said of one whose own 
heart, whose education, and the wants of society, have 
called in vain to some noble purpose ; who has floated on, 
a dreamy neutral spectator of the struggles, agonies, and 
wrongs of man, when he should have been a worker ? " 

I should say," said Miss Ophelia, that he ought to 
repent, and begin now." 

Always practical and to the point ! " said St. Clare, 
his face breaking out into a smile. You never leave me 
any time for general reflections, cousin ; you always bring 
me short up against the actual present ; you have a kind of 
eternal now, always in your mind." 

Now is all the time I have anything to do with," said 
Miss Ophelia. 

^^Dear little Eva, — poor child !" said St. Clare, she 
had set her little simple soul on a good work for me. " 

It was the first time since Eva^s death that he had ever 
said as many words as these of her, and he spoke now evi- 
dently repressing very strong feeling. 

My view of Christianity is such," he added, that I 
think no man can consistently profess it without throwing 
the whole weight of his being against this monstrous 
system of injustice that lies at the foundation of all our 
society ; and, if need be, sacrificing himself in the battle. 
That is, I mean that I could not he a Christian otherwise 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


335 


though I have cercainly had intercourse with a great many 
enlightened and Christian people who did no such thing ; 
and I confess that the apathy of religious people on this 
subject, their want of perception of wrongs that filled me 
with horror, have engendered in me more scepticism than 
any other thing/' 

‘"If you knew all this," said Miss Ophelia, “why didn't 
you do it ? " 

“ 0, because I have had only that kind of benevolence 
which consists in lying on a sofa, and cursing the church 
and clergy for not being martyrs and confessors. One 
can see, you know, very easily, how others ought to be 
martyrs." 

“ Well, are you going to do differently now ? " said Miss 
Ophelia. 

“Grod only knows the future," said St. Clare. “I am 
braver than I was, because I have lost all ; and he who has 
nothing to lose can afford all risks." 

“ And what are you going to do ? " 

“ My dutv, I hope, to the poor and lowly, as fast as I 
find it out, said St. Clare, “ beginning with my own serv- 
ants, for whom I have yet done nothing ; and, perhaps, 
at some future day, it may appear that I can do something 
for a whole class ; something to save my country from the 
disgrace of that false position in which she now stands 
before all civilized nations." 

“ Do you suppose it possible that a nation ever will vol- 
untarily emancipate ? " said Miss Ophelia. 

“ I don't know," said St. Clare. “ This is a day of great 
deeds. Heroism and disinterestedness are rising up, here 
and there, in the earth. The Hungarian nobles set free 
millions of serfs, at an immense pecuniary loss ; and, per- 
haps, among us may be found generous spirits, who do not 
estimate honor and justice by dollars and cents." 

“ I hardly think so," said Miss Ophelia. 

“ But, suppose we should rise up to-morrow and eman- 
cipate, who would educate these millions, and teach them 
how to use their freedom ? They never would rise to do 
much among us. The fact is, we are too lazy and un- 
practical, ourselves, ever to ^ive them much of an idea of 
that industry and energy which is necessary to form them 
into men. They will have to go north, where labor is the 
fashion, — the universal custom ; and tell me, now, is there 


336 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN ; OR, 


enough Christian philanthropy, among your northei 
states, to bear with the process of their education and eleva- 
tion ? You send thousands of dollars to foreign missions ; 
but could you endure to have the heathen sent into your 
towns and villages, and give your time, and thoughts, and 
money, to raise them to the Christian standard ? That^s 
what I want to know. If we emancipate, are you willing 
to educate ? How many families, in your town, would 
take in a negro man and woman, teach them, bear with 
them, and seek to make them Christians ? How many 
merchants would take Adolph, if I wanted to make him a 
clerk ; or mechanics if I wanted him taught a trade ? If 
I wanted to put Jane and Eosa to a school, how many 
schools are there in the northern states that would take 
them in ? how many families that would board thpm ? and 
yet they are as white as many a woman, north or south. 
You see, cousin, I want justice done us. We are in a bad 
position. We are the more obvious oppressors of the 
negro ; but the unchristian prejudice of the north is an 
oppressor almost equally severe.” 

Well, cousin, I know it is so,” said Miss Ophelia , — ‘^1 
know it was so with me, till I saw that it was my duty to 
overcome it ; but, I trust I have overcome it ; and I know 
there are many good people at the north, who in this mat- 
ter need only to be taught what their duty is, to do it. It 
would certainly be a greater self-denial to receive heathen 
among us, than to send missionaries to them ; but I think 
we would do it.” 

You would, I know,” said St. Clare. Fd like to 
see anything you wouldn’t do, if you thought it your 
duty ! ” 

Well, Fm not uncommonly good,” said Miss Ophelia. 

Others would, if they saw things as I do. I intend to 
take Topsy home, when I go. I suppose our folks will 
wonder, at first ; but I think they will be brought to see as 
I do. Besides, I know there are many people at the north 
who do exactly what you said.” 

Yes, but they are a minority ; and, if we should begin 
to emancipate to any extent, we should soon hear from 
you.” 

Miss Ophelia did not reply. There was a pause of some 
moments ; and St. Clare’s countenance was overcast by a 
sad, dreamy expression. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


337 


ee T -1 - — ii. ^ _j T n-i p ji 



ing, as if she were near me. I keep thinking of things 
she used to say. Strange, what brings these past things 
so vividly back to us, sometimes ! 

St. Clare walked up and down the room for some min- 
utes more, and then said, 

believe Til go down street, a few moments, and hear 
the news to-night. 

He took his hat, and passed out. 

Tom followed him to the passage, out of the court, and 
asked if he should attend him. 

^^No, my boy,^^ said St. Clare. shall be hack in an 


Tom sat down in the verandah. It was a beautiful 
moonlight evening, and he sat watching the rising and fall- 
ing spray of the fountain, and listening to its murmur. 
Tom thought of his home, and that he should soon be a 
free man, and able to return to it at will. He thought 
how he should work to buy his wife and boys. He felt the 
muscles of his brawny arms with a sort of joy, as he 
thought they would soon belong to himself, and how much 
they could do to work out the freedom of his family. 
Then he thought of his noble young master, and, ever 
second to that, came the habitual prayer that he had 
always offered for him ; and then his thoughts passed on 
to the beautiful Eva, whom he now thought of among the 
angels ; and he thought till he almost fancied that that 
bright face and golden hair were looking upon him, out of 
the spray of the fountain. And, so musing, he fell asleep, 
and dreamed he saw her coming bounding towards him, just 
as she used to come, with a wreath of jessamine in her 
hair, her cheeks bright, and her eyes radiant with delight ; 
but, as he looked, she seemed to rise from the ground ; her 
cheeks wore a paler hue, — her eyes had a deep, divine 
radiance, a golden halo seemed around her head, — and she 
vanished from his sight ; and Tom was awakened by a loud 
knocking, and a sound of many voices at the gate. 

He hastened to undo it ; and, with smothered voices and 
heavy tread, came several men, bringing a body, wrapped 
in a cloak, and lying on a shutter. The light of the lamp 
fell full on the face ; and Tom gave a wild cry of amaze- 
ment and despair, that rung through all the galleries, as 


22 


338 


UNCLE TOM\S CABIN; Oi?, 


the men advanced, with their burden, to the open parlor 
door, where Miss Ophelia still sat knitting. 

St. Clare had turned into a cafe, to look over an evening 
paper. As he was reading, an affray arose between two 
gentlemen in the room, who were both partially intoxicated. 
St. Clare and one or two others made an effort to separate 
them, and St. Clare received a fatal stab in the side with a 
bowie-knife, which he was attempting to wrest from one of 
them. 

The house was full of cries and lamentations, shrieks 
and screams ; servants frantically tearing their hair, throw- 
ing themselves on the ground, or running distractedly 
about, lamenting. Tom and Miss Ophelia alone seemed to 
have any presence of mind ; for Marie was in strong hysteric 
convulsions. At Miss Ophelia^s direction, one of the lounges 
in the parlor was hastily prepared, and the bleeding form 
laid upon it. St. Clare had fainted, through pain and loss 
of blood ; but, as Miss Ophelia applied restoratives, he re- 
vived, opened his eyes, looked fixedly on them, looked 
earnestly around the room, his eyes travelling wistfully 
over every object, and finally they rested on his mo therms 
picture. 

The physician now arrived, and made his examination. 
It was evident, from the expression of his face, that there 
was no hope ; but he applied himself to dressing the 
wound, and he and Miss Ophelia and Tom proceeded com- 
posedly with this work, amid the lamentations and sobs 
and cries of the affrighted servants who had clustered 
about the doors and windows of the verandah. 

Now,^^ said the physician, we must turn all these 
creatures out ; all depends on his being kept quiet. 

St. Clare opened his eyes, and looked fixedly on the dis- 
tressed beings, whom Miss Ophelia and the doctor were 
trying to urge from the apartment. Poor creatures ! 
he said, and an expression of bitter self-reproach passed 
over his face. Adolph absolutely refused to go. Terror 
had deprived him of all presence Oj. mind ; he threw him- 
self along on the fioor, and nothing could persuade him to 
rise. The rest yielded to Miss Ophelia’s urgent representa- 
tions, that their master’s safety depended on their stillness 
and obedience. 

St. Clare could say but little ; he lay with his eyes shut, 
but it was evident that he wrestled with bitter thoughts. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 339 

After a while, he laid his hand on Tom^s, who was kneel- 
ing beside him, and said, Tom ! poor fellow I"" 

What, MasT said Tom, earnestly. 

I am dying,^^ said St. Clare, pressing his hand ; 

pray ! 

If you would like a clergyman said the physician. 

St. Clare hastily shook his head, and said again to Tom, 
more earnestly, Pray ! ” 

And Tom did pray, with all his mind and strength, for 
the soul that was passing, — the soul that seemed looking 
so steadily and mournfully from those large, melancholy 
blue eyes. It was literally prayer offered with strong cry- 
ing and tears. 

When Tom ceased to speak, St. Clare reached out and 
took his hand, looking earnestly at him, but saying noth- 
ing. He closed his eyes, but still retained his hold ; for, 
in the gates of eternity, the black hand and the white hold 
each other with an equal clasp. He murmured softly to 
himself, at broken intervals, 

“ Recordare Jesu pie — 

* * * * 

Ne me per das — ille die 
Querens me — sedisti lassus.” 

It was evident that the words he had been singing that 
evening were passing through his mind, — words of entreaty 
addressed to Infinite Pity. His lips moved at intervals, as 
parts of the hymn fell brokenly from them. 

His mind is wandering,'’^ said the doctor. 

^^No! it is coming home, at last!^^ said St. Clare, 
energetically ; at last ! at last ! 

The effort of speaking exhausted him. The sinking 
paleness of death fell on him ; but with it there fell, as if 
shed from the wings of some pitying spirit, a beautiful 
expression of peace, like that of a wearied child who sleeps. 

So he lay for a few moments. They saw that the mighty 
hand was on him. Just before the spirit parted, he opened 
his eyes, with a sudden light, as of joy and recognition, 
and said Mother ! ” and then he was gone 1 


340 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE IJHPROTECTED. 

We hear often of the distress of negro servants, on the 
loss of a kind master ; and with good reason, for no creat- 
ure on God’s earth is left more utterly unprotected and 
desolate than the slaves in these circumstances. 

The child who has lost a father has still the protection 
of friends, and of the law ; he is something, and can do 
something, — has acknowledged rights and position ; the 
slave has none. The law regards him, in every respect, as 
devoid of rights as a bale of merchandise. The only pos- 
sible acknowledgment of any of the longings and wants of 
a human and immortal creature, which are given to him, 
comes to him through the sovereign and irresponsible will 
of his master ; and when that master is stricken down 
nothing remains. 

The number of those men who know how to use wholly 
irresponsible power humanely and generously is small. 
Everybody knows this, and the slave knows it best of all ; 
so that he feels that there are ten chances of his finding 
an abusive and tyrannical master, to one of his finding a 
considerate and kind one. Therefore is it that the wail 
over a kind master is loud and long, as well it may be. 

When St. Clare breathed his last, terror and consterna- 
tion took hold of all his household. He had been stricken 
down so in a moment, in the flower and strength of his 
youth ! Every room and gallery of the house resounded 
with sobs and shrieks of despair. 

Marie, whose nervous system had been enervated by a 
constant course of self-indulgence, had nothing to support 
the terror of the shock, and, at the time her husband 
breathed his last, was passing from one fainting fit to 
another ; and he to whom she had been joined in the mys- 
terious tie of marriage passed from her forever, without 
the possibility of even a parting word. 

Miss Ophelia, with characteristic strength and self-con- 
trol, had remained with her kinsman to the last, — all eye, 
all ear, all attention ; doing everything of the little that 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


341 


could be done, and joining with her whole soul in the 
tender and impassioned prayers which the poor slave had 
poured forth for the soul of his dying master. 

When they were arranging him for his last rest, they 
found upon his bosom, a small, plain miniature case, open- 
ing with a spring. It was the miniature of a noble and 
beautiful female face ; and on the reverse, under a crystal, 
a lock of dark hair. They laid them back on the lifeless 
breast, — dust to dust, — poor mournful relics of early 
dreams, which once made that cold heart beat so 
warmly ! 

Tom^s whole soul was filled with thoughts of eternity ; 
and while he ministered around the lifeless clay, he did not 
once think that the sudden stroke had left him in hope- 
less slavery. He felt at peace about his master ; for in 
that hour, when he had poured forth his prayer into the 
bosom of his Father, he had found an answer of quietness 
and assurance springing up within himself. In the depths 
of his own affectionate nature, he felt able to perceive 
something of the fulness of Divine love ; for' an old oracle 
hath thus written, — He that dwelleth in love dwelleth 
in God, and God in him.^^ Tom hoped and trusted, and 
was at peace. 

But the funeral passed, with all its pageant of black 
crape, and prayers, and solemn faces ; and back rolled the 
cool, muddy waves of every-day life ; and up came the ever- 
lasting hard inquiry of What is to be done next ? 

It rose to the mind of Marie, as, dressed in loose morn 
ing robes, and surrounded by anxious servants, she sat u)« 
in a great easy-chair, and inspected samples of crape ana 
bombazine. It rose to Miss Ophelia, who began to turn 
her thoughts towards her northern home. It rose, in silent 
terrors, to the minds of the servants, who well knew the 
unfeeling, tyrannical character of the mistress in whose 
hands they were left. All knew, very well, that the in- 
dulgences which had been accorded to them were not from 
their mistress, but from their master ; and that, now he 
was gone, there would be no screen between them and 
every tyrannous infliction which a temper soured by afflic- 
tion might devise. 

It was about a fortnight after the funeral, that Miss 
Ophelia, busied one day in her apartment, heard a gentle 
tap ac the door. She opened it, and there stood Eosa, the 


342 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


pretty yonng quadroon, whom we have before often noticed, 
her hair in disorder, and her eyes swelled with crying. 

0 Miss Feely,^^ she said, falling on her knees, and 
catching the skirt of her dress, do, do go to Miss Marie 
for me ! do plead for me ! She’s goin’ to send me out to 
be whipped, — look there ! ” And she handed to Miss 
Ophelia a paper. 

It was an order, written in Marie’s delicate Italian hand, 
to the master of a whipping-establishment, to give the 
bearer fifteen lashes. 

What have you been doing ? ” said Miss Ophelia. 

You know. Miss Feely, I’ve got such a bad temper ; 
it’s very had of me. I was trying on Miss Marie’s dress, 
and she slapped my face ; and I spoke out before I thought, 
and was saucy ; and she said that she’d bring me down, 
and have me know, once for all, that I wasn’t going to 
be so topping as I had been ; and she wrote this and says 
I shall carry it. I’d rather she’d kill me, right out.” 

Miss Ophelia stood considering, with the paper in her 
hand. 

You see. Miss Feely,” said Eosa, I don’t mind the 
whipping so much, if Miss Marie or you was to do it ; hut, 
to he sent to a man ! and such a horrid man, — the shame 
of it. Miss Feely ! ” 

Miss Ophelia well knew that it was the universal custom 
to send women and young girls to whipping-houses to the 
hands of the lowest of men, — men vile enough to make 
this their profession, — there to be subjected to brutal ex- 
posure and shameful correction. She had knoton it be- 
fore ; hut hitherto she had never realized it, till she saw 
the slender form of Eosa almost convulsed with distress. 
All the honest blood of womanhood, the strong Yew Eng- 
land blood of liberty, fiushed to her cheeks, and throbbed 
bitterly in her indignant heart ; but, with habitual pru- 
dence and self-control, she mastered herself, and, crushing 
the paper firmly in her hand, she merely said to Eosa, 

^^Sit down, child, while I go to your mistress.” 

Shameful ! monstrous ! outrageous ! ” she said to her- 
self, as she was crossing the parlor. 

She found Marie sitting up in her easy-chair, with 
Mammy standing by her, combing her hair ; Jane sat on 
the ground before her, busy in chafing her feet. 

How do you find yourself, to-day ?” said Miss Ophelia, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


343 


A deep sigh, and a closing of the eyes was the only re- 
ply, for a moment ; and then Marie answered, 0, I don^t 
know, cousin ; I suppose Fm as well as I ever shall be ! 
and Marie wiped her eyes with a cambric handkerchief, 
bordered with an inch deep of black. 

I came,'’^ said Miss Ophelia, with a short, dry cough, 
such as commonly introduces a difficult subject, — I came 
to speak with you about poor Rosa.^^ 

Marie^s eyes were open wide enough now, and a flush 
rose to her sallow cheeks, as she answered, sharply. 

Well, what about her ?” 

She is very sorry for her fault. 

She is, is she ? Shefll be sorrier, before Fve done with 
her ! Fve endured that child^s impudence long enough ; 
and now Fll bring her down, — Ifll make her lie in the 
dust \ 

But could not you punish her some other way, — some 
way that would be less shameful ? 

I mean to shame her ; thaFs just what I want. She 
has all her life presumed on her delicacy, and her good 
looks, and her lady-like airs, till she forgets who she is ; — 
and Fll give her one lesson that will bring her down, I 
fancy ! 

But, cousin, consider that, if you destroy delicacy and 
a sense of shame in a young girl, you deprave her very 
fast."*^ 

Delicacy ! ” said Marie, with a scornful laugh, — a 
fine word for such as she ! Ifll teach her, with all her airs, 
that she^s no better than the raggedest black wench that 
walks the streets ! Shefll take no more airs with me ! 

You will answer to God for such cruelty said Miss 
Ophelia, with energy. 

Cruelty, — IM like to know what the cruelty is ! I 
wrote orders for only fifteen lashes, and told him to put 
them on lightly. I^m sure there^s no cruelty there ! 

No cruelty ! said Miss Ophelia. ^^Fm sure any girl 
might rather be killed outright ! 

It might seem so to anybody with your feeling ; but 
all these creatures get used to it ; iFs the only way they 
can be kept in order. Once let them feel that they are to 
take any airs about delicacy, and all that, and theyfil run 
all over you, just as my servants always have. Fve begun 
now to bring them under ; and Ifil have them all to know 


344 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; Olt, 


that ril send one out to be whipped, as soon as another, if 
they don^t mind themselves ! " said Marie, looking around 
her decidedly. 

Jane hung her head and cowered at this, for she felt as 
if it was particularly directed to her. Miss Ophelia sat for 
a moment, as if she had swallowed some explosive mixture, 
and were ready to hurst. Then, recollecting the utter use- 
lessness of contention with such a nature, she shut her lips 
resolutely, gathered herself up, and walked out of the room. 

It was hard to go back and tell Eosa that she could do 
nothing for her ; and, shortly after, one of the man-servants 
came to say that her mistress had ordered him to take Eosa 
with him to the whipping-house, whither she was hurried, 
in spite of her tears and entreaties. 

A few days after, Tom was standing musing by the bal- 
conies, when he was joined by Adolph, who, since the 
death of his master, had been entirely crestfallen and dis- 
consolate. Adolph knew that he had always been an object 
of dislike to Marie ; but while his master lived he had paid 
but little attention to it. Now that he was gone, he had 
moved about in daily dread and trembling, not knowing what 
might befall him next. Marie had held several consulta- 
tions with her lawyer ; after communicating with St. Clarets 
brother, it was determined to sell the place, and all the 
servants, except her own personal property, and these she 
intended to take with her, and go back to her father^s 
plantation. 

Do ye know, Tom, that weVe all got to be sold said 
Adolph. 

How did you hear that ? said Tom. 

I hid myself behind the curtains when Missis was talk- 
ing with the lawyer. In a few days we shall all be sent 
off to auction, Tom.” 

The Lord^s will be done ! ” said Tom, folding liis arms 
and ^hing heavily. 

^^M^^ll never get another such a master,” said Adolph, 
apprehensively ; but IM rather be sold than take my 
chance under Missis.” 

Tom turned away ; his heart was full. The hope of 
liberty, the thought of distant wife and children, rose up 
before his patient soul, as to the mariner shipwrecked al- 
most in port rises the vision of the church-spire and loving 
roofs of his native village, seen over the top of some black 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


345 


wave only for one last farewell. He drew his arms tightly 
over his bosom, and choked back the bitter tears, and 
tried to pray. The poor old soul had such a singular, un- 
accountable prejudice in favor of liberty, that it was a hard 
wrench for him ; and the more he said, Thy will be 
done,’’^ the worse he felt. 

He sought Miss Ophelia, who, ever since Eva^s death, 
had treated him with marked and respectful kindness. 

Miss Feely,” he said, ^"MasTSt. Clare promised me 
my freedom. He told me that he had begun to take it out 
for me ; and now, perhaps, if Miss Feely would be good 
enough to speak about it to Missis, she would feel like 
goin^ on with it, as it was MasT St. Clarets wish.^^ 

ril speak for you, Tom, and do my best," said Miss 
Ophelia ; but, if it depends on Mrs. St. Clare, I can^t 
hope much for you ; — nevertheless, I will try." 

This incident occurred a few days after that of Kosa, 
while Miss Ophelia was busied in preparations to return 
north. 

Seriously reflecting within herself, she considered that 
perhaps she had shown too hasty a warmth of language in 
her former interview with Marie ; and she resolved that 
she would now endeavor to moderate her zeal, and to be as 
conciliatory as possible. So the good soul gathered herself 
up, and, taking her knitting, resolved to go into Marie^s 
room, be as agreeable as possible, dnd negotiate Tom^s 
case with all the diplomatic skill of which she was mistress. 

Sb«i found Marie reclining at length upon a lounge, 
supporting herself on one elbow by pillows, while Jane, 
who had fcen out shopping, was displaying before her cer- 
tain samples of thin black stuffs. 

That will do," said Marie, selecting one; ^^only Fm 
not sure about its being properly mourning." 

^^Laws, Missis," said Jane, volubly, ""Mrs. General 
Derbennon wore just this very thing, after the General 
died, last summer ; it makes up lovely ! " 

"" What do you think ? " said Marie to Miss Ophelia. 

"" IFs a matter of custom, I suppose," said Miss Ophelia. 

"You can judge about it better than I." 

""The fact is," said Marie, ""that I havenT a dress in 
the world that I can wear ; and, as I am going to break 
up the establishment, and go off, next week, I must decide 
upon something." 


346 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


Are you going so soon ? 

Yes. St. Clarets brother has written, and he and the 
lawyer think that the servants and furniture had better 
be put up at auction, and the place left with our lawyer.” 

There^s one thing I wanted to speak with you about,” 
said Miss Ophelia. Augustine promised Tom his liberty, 
and began the legal forms necessary to it. I hope you 
will use your influence to have it perfected.” 

Indeed, I shall do no such thing ! ” said Marie, sharply. 
^^Tom is one of the most valuable servants on the place, — 
it couldnT be afforded, any way. Besides what does he 
want of liberty ? He^s a great deal better off as he is.” 

But. he does desire it, very earnestly, and his master 
promised it,” said Miss Ophelia. 

I dare say he does want it,” said Marie ; they all 
want it, just because they are a discontented set, — always 
wanting what they havenT got. Now, Fm principled 
against emancipating, in any case. Keep a negro under 
the care of a master, and he does well enough, and is re- 
spectable ; but set them free, and they get lazy, and wonT 
work, and take to drinking, and go all down to be mean, 
worthless fellows. IVe seen it tried, hundreds of times. 
It^s no favor to set them free.” 

But Tom is so steady, industrious, and pious.” 

0, you neednT tell me ! Fve seen a hundred like him. 
Hefll do very well, as long as he^s taken care of, — that^s all.” 

But, then, consider,” said Miss Ophelia, when you set 
him up for sale> the chances of his getting a bad master.” 

0, thaFs all humbug ! ” said Marie ; it isnT one 
time in a hundred that a good fellow gets a bad master ; 
most masters are good, for all the talk that is made. I’ve 
lived and grown up here, in the South, and I never yet 
was acquainted with a master that didn’t treat his servants 
well, — quite as well as is worth while. I don’t feel any 
fears on that head.” 

Well,” said Miss Ophelia, energetically, I know it 
was one of the last wishes of your husband that Tom should 
have his liberty ; it was one of the promises that he made 
to dear little Eva on her death-bed, and I should not think 
you would feel at liberty to disregard it.” 

Marie had her face covered with her handkerchief at this 
appeal, and began sobbing and using her smelling bottle, 
with great vehemence. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


34i 


Everybody goes against me ! she said. Everybody 
is so inconsiderate ! I shouldn't have expected that you 
would bring up all these remembrances of my troubles to 
me, — it^s so inconsiderate ! But nobody ever does con- 
sider, — my trials are so peculiar ! It^s so hard, that when 
I had only one daughter, she should have been taken ! — 
and when I had a husband that just exactly suited me, — 
and Fm so hard to be suited ! — he should be taken ! And 
you seem to have so little feeling for m*e, and keep bring- 
ing it up to me so carelessly, — when you know how it over- 
comes me ! I suppose you mean well ; but it is very in- 
considerate, — very And Marie sobbed, and gasped for 

breath, and called Mammy to open the window, and to 
bring her the camphor-bottle, and to bathe her head, and 
unhook her dress. And, in the general confusion that 
ensued. Miss Ophelia made her escape to her apartment. 

She saw, at once, that it would do no good to say any- 
thing more ; for Marie had an indefinite capacity for hys- 
teric fits ; and, after this, whenever her husband^’s or Eva^s 
wishes with regard to the servants were alluded to, she 
always found it convenient to set one in operation. Miss 
Ophelia, therefore, did the next best thing she could for 
Tom, — she wrote a letter to Mrs. Shelby for him, stating 
his troubles, and urging them to send to his relief. 

The next day, Tom and Adolph, and some half a dozen 
other servants, were marched down to a slave warehouse, 
to await the convenience of the trader, who was going to 
make up a lot for auction. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE SLAVE WAKEHOUSE. 

A SLAVE warehouse ! Perhaps some of my readers con- 
jure up horrible visions of such a place. They fancy some 
foul, obscure den, some horrible Tartarus informis, in- 
gens, cui lumen ademptum.” But, no, innocent friend ; in 
these days men have learned the art of sinning expertly and 
genteelly, so as not to shock the eyes and senses of respect- 
able society. Human property is high in the market ; 
and is, therefore, well fed, well cleaned, tended, and looked 


848 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


after, that it may come to sale sleek, and strong, and shin- 
ing. A slave warehouse in New Orleans is a house exter- 
nally not much unlike many others, kept with neatness ; 
and where every day you may see arranged, under a sort of 
shed along the outside, rows of men and women, who stand 
there as a sign of the property sold within. 

Then you shall be courteously entreated to call and ex- 
amine, and shall find an abundance of husbands, wives, 
brothers, sisters fathers, mothers, and young children to 
be sold separately, or in lots, to suit the convenience of 
the purchaser ; and that soul, immortal, once bought 
with blood and anguish by the Son of God, when the earth 
shook, and the rocks rent, and the graves were opened, can 
be sold, leased, mortgaged, exchanged for groceries or dry 
goods, to suit the phases of trade, or the fancy of the pur- 
chaser. 

It was a day or two after the conversation between Marie 
and Miss Ophelia, that Tom, Adolph, and about half a 
dozen others of the St. Clare estate, were turned ovei* to 
the loving kindness of Mr. Skeggs, the keeper of a depot 
on Street, to await the auction, next day. 

Tom had with him quite a sizable trunk full of clothing, 
ae had most others of them. They were ushered, for the 
night, into a long room, where many other men, of all ages, 
sizes, and shades of complexion, were assembled, and from 
which roars of laughter and unthinking merriment were 
proceeding. 

Ah, ah ! that’s right. Go it, boys, — go it ! said Mr. 
Skeggs, the keeper. ^^My people are always so merry! 
Sambo, I see ! he said, speaking approvingly to a burly 
negro who was performing tricks of low buffoonery which 
occasioned the ftiouts which Tom had heard. 

As might be imagined, Tom was in no humor to join 
these proceedings ; and, therefore, setting his trunk as far 
as possible from the noisy group, he sat down on it, and 
leaned his face against the wall. 

The dealers in the human article make scrupulous and 
systematic efforts to promote noisy mirth among them, as 
a means of drowning reflection, and rendering them insen- 
sible to their condition. The whole object of the training 
to which the negro is put, from the time he is sold in the 
northern market till he arrives south, is systematically 
directed towards making him callous, unthinking, and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


349 


brutal. The slave-dealer collects his gang in Virginia or 
Kentucky, and drives them to some convenient healthy 
place, — often a watering place, — to he fattened. Here 
they are fed full daily ; and, because some incline to pine, 
a fiddle is kept commonly going among them, and they are 
made to dance daily ; and he who refuses to be merry — in 
whose soul thoughts of wife, or child, or home, are too strong 
for him to be gay — is marked as sullen and dangerous and 
subjected to all the evils which the ill will of an utterly 
Irresponsible and hardened man can inflict upon him. 
Briskness, alertness, and cheerfulness of appearance, espe- 
cially before observers, are constantly enforced upon them, 
both by the hope of thereby getting a good master, and 
the fear of all that the driver may bring upon them, if they 
prove unsalable. 

What dat ar nigger doin^ here said Sambo, coming 
up to Tom, after Mr. Skeggs had left the room. Sambo 
was a full black, of great size, very lively, voluble, and full 
of trick and grimace. 

What you doin^ here said Sambo, coming up to Tom, 
and poking him facetiously in the side. Meditating 
eh?^^ 

I am to be sold at the auction, to-morrow ! said Tom, 
quietly. 

Sold at auction, — haw ! haw ! boys, anT this yer fun ? 
I wishT I was gwine that ar way ! — tell ye, wouldnT I make 
’em laugh ? But how is it, — dis yer whole lot gwine to- 
morrow ?” said Sambo, laying his hand freely on Adolph’s 
shoulder. 

Please to let me alone ! ” said Adolph, fiercely, straight- 
ening himself up, with extreme disgust. 

Law, now, boys ! dis yer’s one o’ yer white niggers,— 
kind o’ cream color, ye know, scented ! ” said he, coming 
up to Adolph and snuffing. ^^0, Lor ! he’d do for a tobac' 
cer-shop ; they could keep him to scent snuff ! Lor, he’d 
keep a whole shop a-gwine, — he would ! ” 

I say, keep off, can’t you ?” said Adolph, enraged. 

Lor, now, how touchy we is, — we white niggers ! Look 
at us, now ! ” and Sambo gave a ludicrous imitation of 
Adolph’s manner ; here’s de airs and graces. We’s been 
in a good family, I specs.” 

Yes,” said Adolph ; had a master that could have 
bought you all for old truck ! ” 


350 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OB, 


Laws, now, only think, said Sambo, the gentlemens 
that we is ! 

I belonged to the St. Clare family, said Adolph, 
proudly. 

Lor, you did ! Be hanged if they ar^n^t lucky to get 
shet of ye. Spects they^s gwine to trade ye off with a lot 
o^ cracked tea-pots an^ sich like ! said Sambo, with a pro- 
voking grin. 

Adolph, enraged at this taunt, flew furiously at his adver^ 
sary, swearing and striking on every side of him. The rest 
laughed and shouted, and the uproar brought the keeper 
to the door. 

What now, boys ? Order, — order ! he said, coming in 
and flourishing a large whip. 

All fled in different directions, except Sambo, who, pre- 
suming on the favor which the keeper had to him as a 
licensed wag, stood his ground, ducking his head with a 
facetious grin, whenever the master made a dive at him. 

^^Lor, Mas^’r, Tan’t us, — we^s reglar stiddy, — it's these 
yer new hands ; they's real aggravatin ', — kinder pickin' at 
us, all time ! " 

The keeper, at this, turned upon Tom and Adolph, and 
distributing a few kicks and cuffs without much inquiry, 
and leaving general orders for all to be good boys and go 
to sleep, left the apartment. 

While this scene was going on in the men's sleeping- 
room, the reader may be curious to take a peep at the cor- 
responding apartment allotted to the women. Stretched 
out in various attitudes over the floor, he may see number- 
less sleeping forms of every shade of complexion, from the 
purest ebony to white, and of all years, from childhood to 
old age, lying now asleep. Here is a flne bright girl, of ten 
years, whose mother was sold only yesterday, and who to- 
night cried herself to sleep when nobody was looking at 
her. Here, a worn old negress, whose thin arms and 
callous Angers tell of hard toil, waiting to he sold to-mor- 
row, as a cast-off article, for what can be got for her ; and 
some forty or flfty others, with heads variously enveloped 
in blankets or articles of clothing, lie stretched around 
them. But, in a corner, sitting apart from the rest, are 
two females of a more interesting appearance than common. 
One of these is a respectably-dressed mulatto woman be- 
tween forty and fifty, with soft eyes and a gentle and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


351 


pleasing physiognomy. She has on her head a high-raised 
turban, made of a gay red Madras handkerchief, of the first 
quality, and her dress is neatly fitted, and of good material, 
showing that she has been provided for with a careful hand. 
By her side, and nestling close to her, is a young girl of 
fifteen, — her daughter. She is a quadroon, as may be 
seen from her fair complexion, though her likeness ta her 
mother is quite discernible. She has the same soft, dark 
eye, with longer lashes, and her curling hair is of a luxu- 
riant brown. She also is dressed with great neatness, and 
her white, delicate hands betray very little acquaintance 
with servile toil. These two are to be sold to-morrow, in 
the same lot with the St. Clare servants ; and the gentle- 
man to whom they belong, and to whom the money for 
their sale is to be transmitted, is a member of a Christian 
church in New York, who will receive the money, and go 
thereafter to the sacrament of his Lord and theirs, and 
think no more of it. 

These two, whom we shall call Susan and Emmeline, had 
been the personal attendants of an amiable and pious lady 
of New Orleans, by whom they had been carefully and 
piously instructed and trained. They had been taught to 
read and write, diligently instructed in the truths of relig- 
ion, and their lot had been as happy an one as in their con- 
dition it was possible to be. But the only son of their 
protectress had the management of her property ; and, by 
carelessness and extravagance, involved it to a large amount, 
and at last failed. One of the largest creditors was the 
respectable firm of B. & Co., in New York. B. & Co. 
wrote to their lawyer in New Orleans, who attached the 
real estate (these two articles and a lot of plantation hands 
formed the most valuable part of it), and wrote word to 
that effect to New York. Brother B., being, as we have 
said, a Christian man, and a resident in a free State, felt 
some uneasiness on the subject. He didnT like trading in 
slaves and souls of men, — of course he didnT ; but, then, 
there were thirty thousand dollars in the case, and that 
was rather too much money to be lost for a principle ; and 
so, after much considering, and asking advice from those 
that he knew would advise to suit him. Brother B. wrote 
to his lawyer to dispose of the business in the way that 
seemed to him the most suitable, and remit the proceeds. 

The day after the letter arrived in New Orleans, Susan 


352 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, OR, 


and Emmeline were attached, and sent to the depot to await 
a general auction on the following morning ; and as they 
glimmer faintly upon us in the moonlight which steals 
through the grated window, we may listen to their conver- 
sation. Both are weeping, but each quietly, that the other 
may not hear. 

Mother, just lay your head on my lap, and see if you 
can^t sleep a little, says the girl, trying to appear calm. 

I haven^t any heart to sleep, Em ; I can^t, it^s the last 
night we may he together ! 

0, mother, don^’t say so ! perhaps we shall get sold to- 
gether, — who knows 

If ^twas anybody's else case, I should say so, too, Em,^^ 
said the woman; ‘^butTm so feard of losin^ you that I 
don^t see anything but the danger." 

Why, mother, the man said we were both likely, and 
would sell well." 

Susan remembered the man^s looks and words. With a 
deadly sickness at her heart, she remembered how he had 
looked at Emmeline^s hands, and lifted up her curly hair, 
and pronounced her a first-rate article. Susan had been 
trained as a Christian, brought up in the daily reading of 
the Bible, and had the same horror of her child^s being 
sold to a life of shame that any other Christian mother 
might have ; but she had no hope, — no protection. 

Mother, I think we might do first rate, if you could 
get a place as cook, and I as chambermaid or seamstress, 
in some family. I dare say we shall. Let^s both look as 
bright and lively as we can, and tell all we can do, and 
perhaps we shall," said Emmeline. 

I want you to brush your hair all back straight, to- 
morrow," said Susan. 

^^What for, mother? I don^t look near so well, that 
way.” 

'"Yes, but youfil sell better so." 

" I don^t see why I " said the child. 

" Kespectable families would be more apt to buy you, if 
they saw you looked plain and decent, as if you wasn^t 
trying to look handsome. I know their ways better^n you 
do," said Susan. 

" Well, mother, then I will." 

" And, Emmeline, if we shouldn't ever see each other 
again, after to-morrow, — if Fm sold way up on a planta- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


358 


tion somewhere, and you somewhere else, — always remem- 
her how youVe been brought up, and all Missis has told 
you ; take your Bible with you, and your hymn-book ; and 
if you^re faithful to the Lord, hem’ll be faithful to you.” 

So speaks the poor soul, in sore discouragement ; for she 
knows that to-morrow any man, however vile and brutal, 
liowever godless and merciless, if he only has money to 
pay for her, may become owner of her daughter, body and 
soul ; and then, how is the child to be faithful ? She thinks 
of all this, as she holds her daughter in her arms, and 
wishes that she were not handsome and attractive. It seems 
almost an aggravation to her to remember how purely and 
piously, how much above the ordinary lot, she has been 
brought up. But she has no resort but io pray ; and many 
such prayers to God have gone up from those same trim, 
neatly-arranged, respectable slave-prisons, — prayers which 
God has not forgotten, as a coming day shall show ; for it is 
written, Whoso causeth one of these little ones to offend, 
it were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged about 
his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the 
sea.” 

The soft, earnest, quiet moonbeam looks in, fixedly mark- 
ing the bars of the grated windows on the prostrate, sleep- 
ing forms. The mother and daughter are singing together 
a wild and melancholy dirge, common as a funeral hymn 
among the slaves : 

“ O, where is weeping Mary ? 

O, where is weeping Mary ? 

’Rived in the goodly land. 

She is dead and gone to Heaven ; 

She is dead and gone to Heaven ; 

’Rived in the goodly land.” 

These words, sung by voices of a peculiar and melan- 
choly sweetness, in an air which seemed like the sighing 
of earthly despair after heavenly hope, floated through the 
dark prison with a pathetic cadence, as verse after verse 
was breathed out : 

“ O, where are Paul and Silas ? 

O, where are Paul and Silas ? 

Gone to the goodly land. 

They are dead and gone to Heaven ; 

They are dead and gone to Heaven ; 

’Rived in the goodly land.” 


as 


354 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Sing on, poor souls ! The night is short, and the morn 
ing will part you forever ! 

But now it is morning, and everybody is astir ; and the 
worthy Mr. Skeggs is busy and bright, for a lot of goods is 
to be fitted out for auction. There is a brisk lookout on 
the toilet ; injunction passed around to every one to put on 
their best face and be spry ; and now all arranged in a circle 
for a last review, before they are marched up to the Bourse. 

Mr. Skeggs, with his palmetto on and his cigar in his 
mouth, walks around to put farewell touches on his wares. 

How^s this he said, stepping in front of Susan and 
Emmeline. Where^’s your curls, gal ? 

The girl looked timidly at her mother, who, with the 
smooth adroitness common among her class, answers, 

I was telling her, last night, to put up her hair smooth 
and neat, and not havin^ it fiying about in curls ; looks more 
respectable so.^^ 

Bother ! ” said the man, peremptorily, turning to the 
girl ; you go right along, and curl yourself real smart ! ” 
He added, giving a crack to a rattan he had in his hand. 

And be back in quick time, too ! ” 

You go and help her,^^ he added, to the mother. Them 
curls may make a hundred dollars difference in the sale of 
her." 

^ ^ 4 : ^ 4 ; 

Beneath a splendid dome were men of all nations, mov- 
ing to and fro, over the marble pave. On every side of 
the circular area were little tribunes, or stations, for the use 
of speakers and auctioneers. Two of these, on opposite sides 
of the area, were now occupied by brilliant and talented 

f entlemen, enthusiastically forcing up, in English and 
'rench commingled, the bids of connoisseurs in their vari- 
ous wares. A third one, on the other side, still unoccu- 
pied, was surrounded by a group, waiting the moment of 
sale to begin. And here we may recognize the St. Clare 
servants, — Tom, Adolph, and others ; and there, too, Susan 
and Emmeline, awaiting their turn with anxious and de- 
jected faces. Various spectators, intending to purchase, 
or not intending, as the case might be, gathered around 
the group, handling, examining, and commenting on their 
various points and faces with the same freedom that a set 
of jockeys discuss the merits of a horse. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


355 


y Hulloa, Alf ! what brings you here ? said a young ex- 
quisite, slapping the shoulder of a sprucely-dressed young 
man, who was examining Adolph through an eyeglass. 

"" Well, I was wanting a valet, and heard that St. Clare’s 

lot was going. I thought I’d just look at his ” 

^ Catch me ever buying any of St. Clare’s people ! Spoilt 
niggers, every one. Impudent as the devil ! ” said the other. 

Never fear that ! ” said the first. If I get ’em. I’ll 
soon have their airs out of them ; they’ll soon find that 
they’ve another kind of a master to deal with than Mon- 
sieur St. Clare. ’Pon my word. I’ll buy that fellow. I 
like the shape of him.” 

You’ll find it’ll take all you’ve got to keep him. He’s 
deucedly extravagant ! ” 

Yes, but my lord will find that he canHho extravagant 
with me. Just let him be sent to the calaboose a few times, 
and thoroughly dressed down ! I’ll tell you if it don’t 
bring him to a sense of his ways ! 0, I’ll reform him, up 

hill and down, — you’ll see. I buy him, that’s fiat ! ” 

Tom had been standing wistfully examining the multi- 
tude of faces thronging around him, for one whom he 
would wish to call master. And if you should ever be un- 
der the necessity, sir, of selecting, out of two hundred men, 
one who was to become your absolute owner and disposer, 
you would, perhaps, realize, just as Tom did, how few there 
were that you would feel at all comfortable in being made 
over to. Tom saw abundance of men, — great, burly, gruff 
men ; little, chirping, dried men ; long-favored, lank, hard 
men ; and every variety of stubbed-looking, commonplace 
men, who pick up their fellow-men as one pick-up chips, 
putting them into the fire or a basket with equal uncon- 
cern, according to their convenience ; but he saw no St. 
Clare. 

A little before the sale commenced, a short, broad, mus- 
cular man, in a checked shirt considerably open at the bosom, 
and pantaloons much the worse for dirt and ware, elbowed his 
way through the crowd, like one who is going actively into 
business ; and, coming up to the group, began to examine 
them systematically. From the moment that Tom saw him 
approaching, he felt an immediate and revolting horror at 
him, that increased as he came near. He was evidently, 
though short, of gigantic strength. His round, bullet head, 
large, light-gray eyes, with their shaggy, sandy eye-brows, 


356 


UNCLE TOl^rs CABIN; OB, 


and stiff, wiry, sunburned hair, were rather unprepossessing 
items, it is to be confessed ; his large, coarse mouth was 
distended with tobacco, the juice of which, from time to 
time, he ejected from him with great decison and explosive 
force ; his hands were immensely large, hairy, sun-burned, 
freckled, and very dirty, and garnished with long nails, in 
a very foul condition. This man proceeded to a very free 
personal examination of the lot. He seized Tom by the 
jaw, and pulled open his mouth to inspect his teeth ; made 
him strip up his sleeve, to show his muscle ; turned him 
round, made him jump and spring to show his paces. 

Where was you raised ? he added, briefly, to these 
investigations. 

In Kintuck, MasT,” said Tom, looking about, as if for 
deliverance. 

^^What have you done 

Had care of Mas Vs farm,^^ said Tom. 

Likely story ! said the other, shortly, as he passed on. 
He paused a moment before Dolph ; then spitting a dis- 
charge of tobacco- juice on his well-blacked boots, and 
giving a contemptuous umph, he walked on. Again he 
stopped before Susan and Emmeline. He put out his heavy 
dirty hand, and drew the girl towards him ; passed it over 
her neck and bust, felt her arms, looked at her teeth, and 
then pushed her back against her mother whose patient 
face showed the suffering she had been going through at 
every motion of the hideous stranger. 

The girl was frightened, and began to cry. 

Stop that, you minx ! said the salesman ; no whim- 
pering here, — the sale is going to begin." And accordingly 
the sale begun. 

Adolph was knocked off, at a good sum, to the young 
gentleman who had previously stated his intention of buy- 
ing him ; and the other servants of the St. Clare lot went 
to various bidders. 

Now, up with you, boy! d^ ye hear?" said the auc- 
tioneer to Tom. 

Tom stepped upon the block, gave a few anxious looks 
round ; all seemed mingled in a common, indistinct noise, 
— the clatter of the salesman crying off his qualiflcations 
in French and English, the quick fire of French and En- 
glish bids ; and almost in a moment came the final thump 
of the hammer, and the clear ring on the last syllable of 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 357 

the word ^‘dollars” as the auctioneer announced his price, 
and Tom was made over. — He had a master ! 

He was pushed from the block ; — the short, bullet- 
headed man seizing him roughly by the shoulder, pushed 
him to one side, saying in a harsh voice, Stand there, 
you ! ” 

Tom hardly realized anything ; but still the bidding 
went on, — rattling, clattering, now French, now English. 
Down goes the hammer again, — Susan is sold ! She goes 
down from the block, stops, looks wistfully back, — her 
daughter stretches her hands towards her. She looks with 
agony in the face of the man who has bought her, — a re- 
spectable middle-aged man, of benevolent countenance. 

0 Mash, please do buy my daughter ! 

Fd like to, but Fm afraid I canT aiford it ! said the 
gentleman, looking, with painful interest, as the young 
girl mounted the block, and looked around her with a 
frightened and timid glance. 

The blood flushes painfully in her otherwise colorless 
cheek, her eye has a feverish fire, and her mother groans 
to see that she looks more beautiful than she ever saw her 
before. The auctioneer sees his advantage, and expatiates 
volubly in mingled French and English, and bids rise in 
rapid succession. 

^^Fll do anything inreason,^^ said the benevolent-looking 
gentleman, pressing in and joining with the bids. In a 
few moments they have run beyond his purse. He is 
silent ; the auctioneer grows warmer ; but bids gradually 
drop off. It lies now between an aristocratic old citizen 
and our bullet-headed acquaintance. The citizen bids for 
a few turns, contemptuously measuring his opponent ; but 
the bullet-head has the advantage over him, both in ob- 
stinacy and concealed length of purse, and the controversy 
lasts but a moment ; the h^ammer falls, — he has got the girl, 
body and soul, unless God help her ! 

Her master is Mr. Legree, who owns a cotton plantation 
on the Eed Eiver. She is pushed along into the same lot 
with Tom and two other men, and goes off, weeping as 
she goes. 

The benevolent gentleman is sorry ; but, then, the thing 
happens every day ! One sees girls and mothers crying, at 
these sales, always f it canT be helped, etc. ; and he walks 
off, with his acquisition, in another direction. 


358 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Two days after, the lawyer of the Christian firm of B. 
& Co., New York, sent on their money to them. On the 
reverse of that draft, so obtained, let them write these 
words of the great Paymaster, to whom they shall make 
up their account in a future day : When he maketh in- 

quisition for blood, he forgetteth not the cry of the humble ! 


CHAPTEE XXXL 

THE MIDDLE PASSAGE. 

“ Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look 
upon iniquity : wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal 
treacherously, and boldest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth 
the man that is more righteous than he ? ” — Hab. 1 : 13. 

Oh the lower part of a small, mean boat, on the Eed 
Eiver, Tom sat, — chains on his wrists, chains on his feet, 
and a weight heavier than chains lay on his heart. All had 
faded from his sky, — moon and star ; all had passed by 
him, as the trees and banks were now passing to return no 
more. Kentucky home, with wife and children, and in- 
dulgent owners ; St. Clare home, with all its refinements 
and splendors ; the golden head of Eva, with its saint- 
like eyes ; the proud, gay, handsome, seemingly careless, 
yet ever-kind St. Clare ; hours of ease and indulgent 
leisure, — all gone ! and in place thereof, what remains ? 

It is one of the bitterest apportionments of a lot of 
slavery, that the negro, sympathetic and assimilative, 
after acquiring, in a refined family, the tastes and feelings 
which form the atmosphere of such a place, is not the less 
liable to become the bond-slave of the coarsest and most 
brutal, — just as a chair or table, which once decorated the 
superb saloon, comes, at last, battered and defaced, to the 
bar-room of some filthy tavern, or some low haunt of vulgar 
debauchery. The great difference is, that the table and 
chair cannot feel, and the man can ; for even a legal enact- 
ment that he shall be taken, reputed, adjudged in law, to 
be a chattel personal,^^ cannot blot out his soul, with its own 
private little world of memories, hopes, loves, fears, and 
desires. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


359 


Mr. Simon Legree, Tom^s master, had purchased slaves 
at one place and another, in New Orleans, to the number 
of eight, and driven them, handcuffed, in couples of two 
and two, down to the good steamer Pirate, which lay at 
the levee, ready for a trip up the Red River. 

Having got them fairly on hoard, and the boat being off, 
he came round, with that air of efficiency which ever 
characterized him, to take a review of them. Stopping 
opposite to Tom, who had been attired for sale in his best 
broadcloth suit, with well-starched linen and shining boots, 
he briefly expressed himself as follows : 

Stand up.^^ 

Tom stood up. 

Take off that stock ! and, as Tom, encumbered by 
his fetters, proceeded to do it, he assisted him, by pulling 
it, with no gentle hand, from his neck, and putting it in 
his pocket. 

Legree now turned to Tom^s trunk, which, previous to 
this, he had been ransacking, and, taking from it a pair of 
old pantaloons and a dilapidated coat, which Tom had 
been wont to put on about his stable-work, he said, lib- 
erating Tom^s hands from the handcuffs, and pointing to a 
recess in among the boxes. 

You go there, and put these on.” 

Tom obeyed, and in a few moments returned. 

Take off your boots,” said Mr. Legree. 

Tom did so. 

There,” said the former, throwing him a pair of coarse 
stout shoes, such as were common among the slaves, put 
these on.” 

In Tom^s hurried exchange, he had not forgotten to 
transfer his cherished Bible to his pocket. It was well he did 
so ; for Mr. Legree, having refitted Tom^s handcuffs, pro- 
ceeded deliberately to investigate the contents of his pockets. 
He drew out a silk handkerchief, and put it into his own 
pocket. Several little trifles, which Tom had treasured, 
chiefly because they had amused Eva, he looked upon with 
a contemptuous grunt, and tossed them over his shoulder 
into the river. 

Tom^s Methodist hymn-book, which, in his hurry, he 
had forgotten, he now held up and turned over. 

Humph ! pious, to be sure. So, what^s yer name, — 
you belong to the church, eh ? ” 


360 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, 


Yes, Mas^r,^^ said Tom, firmly. 

AVell, ril soon have that out of you. I have none o' 
yer bawling, praying, singing niggers on my place ; so re- 
member. Now, mind yourself, he said, with a stamp and 
a fierce glance of his gray eye, directed at Tom, Fm your 
church now ! You understand, — youNe got to be as i 
say." 

Something within the silent black man answered No ! 
and, as if repeated by an invisible voice came the words of 
an old prophetic scroll, as Eva had often read them to him, 
— Eear not ! for I have redeemed thee. I have called 
thee by my name. Thou art mine ! " 

But Simon Legree heard no voice. That voice is one 
he never shall hear. He only glared for a moment on the 
downcast face of Tom, and walked off. He took Tom^s 
trunk, which contained a very neat and abundant wardrobe, 
to the forecastle, where it was soon surrounded by various 
hands of the boat. With much laughing, at the expense 
of niggers who tried to be gentlemen, the articles very 
readily were sold to one another, and the empty trunk 
finally put up at auction. It was a good joke, they all 
thought, especially to see how Tom looked after his things, 
as they were going this way and that ; and then the auc- 
tion of the trunk, that was funnier than all, and occasioned 
abundant witticisms. 

This little affair being over, Simon sauntered up again 
to his property. 

Now, Tom, INe relieved you of any extra baggage, 
you see. Take mighty good care of them clothes. Itfil be 
long enough Tore you get more. I go in for making nig- 
gers careful ! one suit has to do for one year, on my 
place." 

Simon next walked up to the place where Emmeline was 
sitting, chained to another woman. 

'^Well, my dear," he said, chucking her under the 
chin, ^^keep up your spirits." 

The involuntary look of horror, fright, and aversion, 
with which the girl regarded him, did not escape his eyou 
He frowned fiercely. 

^^None o^ your shines, gal ! you^s got to keep a pleasant 
face, when I speak to ye, — d^ye hear ? And you, you old 
yellow poco moonshine ! " he said, giving a shove to the 
mulatto woman to whom Emmeline was chained, donT 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


361 


you carry that sort of face ! You^s got to look chipper, 1 
tell ye ! 

I say, all on je,” he said, retreating a pace or two 
back, look at me, — look at me, — look me right in the 
eye, — straight, now ! " said he, stamping his foot at every 
pause. 

As by a fascination, every eye was now directed to the 
glaring greenish-gray eye of Simon. 

^^Now," said he, doubling his great, heavy fist into 
something resembling a blacksmith^s hammer, ‘‘"d^’ye see 
this fist ? Heft it ! he said, bringing it down on Tomb’s 
hand. Look at these yer hones! Well, I tell ye this 
yer fist has got as hard as iron hnocking down niggers. I 
never see the nigger, yet, I couldn^t bring down with one 
crack,^^ said he, bringing his fist down so near to the face 
of Tom that he winked and drew back. I donT keep 
none o^ yer cussed overseers ; I does my own overseeing ; 
and I tell you things is seen to. You^s every one on ye 
got to toe the mark, I tell ye ; quick, — straight, — the 
moment I speak. That^s the way to keep in with me. 
Ye wonT find no soft spot in me, nowhere. So, now, mind 
yerselves ; for I donT show no mercy 1 

The women involuntarily drew in their breath, and the 
whole gang sat with downcast, dejected faces. Meanwhile, 
Simon turned on his heel, and marched up to the bar of 
the boat for a dram. 

That's the way I begin with my niggers, he said, to a 
gentlemanly man, who had stood by him during his speech. 

It’s my system to begin strong, — just let ^em know what 
to expect.^'’ 

Indeed ! said the stranger, looking upon him with 
the curiosity of a naturalist studying some out-of-the-way 
specimen. 

^‘^Yes, indeed. Fm none o^ yer gentlemen planters, 
with lily fingers, to slop round and be cheated by some old 
cuss of an overseer ! Just feel of my knuckles, now ; look 
at my fist. Tell ye, sir, the fiesh onT has come jest like a 
stone, practising on niggers, — feel on it.” 

The stranger applied his fingers to the implement in 
question and simply said, 

^Tis hard enough ; and, I suppose,” he added, prac- 
tice has made your heart just like it.” 

Why, yes, I may say so,” said Simon, with a hearty 


362 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


laugh. I reckon there^s as little soft in me as in any one 
going. Tell you, nobody comes it over me ! Niggers 
never gets round me, neither with squalling nor soft soap, 
— that's a fact." 

You have a fine lot there." 

Eeal," said Simon. There's that Tom, they telled 
me he was suthin' uncommon. I paid a little high for 
him, tendin^ him for a driver and a managing chap ; only 
get the notions out that he's larnt by bein' treated as 
niggers never ought to be, he'll do prime ! The yellow 
woman I got took in in. I rayther think she's sickly, but 
I shall put her through for what she's worth ; she may 
last a year or two. I don't go for savin' niggers. Use up, 
and buy more's, my way ; — makes you less trouble, and 
I'm quite sure it comes cheaper in the end," and Simon 
sipped his glass. 

^^And how long do they generally last?" said the 
stranger. 

Well, donno ; 'cordin' as their constitution is. Stout 
fellers last six or seven years ; trashy ones gets worked up 
in two or three. I used to, when I fust begun, have con- 
siderable trouble fussin' with 'em and trying to make 'em 
hold out, — doctorin' on 'em up when they's sick, and 
givin' on 'em clothes and blankets, and what not, tryin' to 
keep 'em all sort o' decent and comfortable. Law, 'twasn't 
no sort o' use ; I lost money on 'em, and 'twas heaps o' 
trouble. Now, you see, I just put 'em straight through, 
sick or well. When one nigger's dead, I buy another ; and 
I find it comes cheaper and easier, every way." 

The stranger turned away, and seated himself beside 
a gentleman, who had been listening to the conversation 
with repressed uneasiness. 

You must not take that fellow to be any specimen of 
Southern planters," said he. 

I should hope not," said the young gentleman, with 
emphasis. 

He is a mean, low, brutal fellow ! " said the other. 

And yet your laws allow him to hold any number of 
human beings subject to his absolute will, without even a 
shadow of protection ; and, low as he is, you cannot say 
that there are not many such." 

Well," said the other, there are also many considerate 
and humane men among planters." 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


363 


Granted/" said the young man ; ^^but, in my opinion, 
it is you considerate, humane men, that are responsible 
for all the brutality and outrage wrought by these wretches ; 
because, if it were not for your sanction and influence, the 
whole system could not keep foot-hold for an hour. If 
there were no planters except such as that one,” said he, 
pointing with his Anger to Legree, who stood with his back 
to them, the whole thing would go down like a mill- 
stone. It is your respectability and humanity that licenses 
and protects his brutality.” 

You certainly have a high opinion of my good-nature,” 
said the planter, smiling ; but I advise you not to talk 
quite so loud, as there are people on board the boat who 
might not be quite so tolerant to opinion as I am. You 
had better wait till I get up to my plantation, and there 
you may abuse us all, quite at your leisure.” 

The young gentleman colored and smiled, and the two 
were soon busy in a game of backgammon. Meanwhile, 
another conversation was going on in the lower part of the 
boat, between Emmeline and the mulatto woman with 
whom she was conflned. As was natural, they were ex- 
changing with each other some particulars of their history. 

Who did you belong to ? ” said Emmeline. 

Well, my Mas"r was Mr. Ellis, — lived on Levee Street. 
P"raps you"ve seen the house.” 

Was he good to you ?” said Emmeline. 

Mostly, till he tuk sick. He"s lain sick, off and on, 
more than six months, and been orful oneasy. "Pears like 
he warn"t willin" to have nobody rest, day or night ; and 
got so curous, there couldn"t nobody suit him. "Pears like 
he just grew crosser, every day ; kep" me up nights till I 
got farly beat out, and couldn"t keep awake no longer ; 
and "cause I got to sleep, one night, Lors, he talk so orful 
to me, and he tell me he"d sell me to just the hardest 
master he could And ; and he"d promised me my freedom, 
too, when he died.” 

Had you any friends ? ” said Emmeline. 

Yes, my husband, — he"s a blacksmith. Mas"r gen"ly 
hired him out. They took me off so quick, I didn"t even 
have time to see him ; and Ps got four children. 0, dear 
me I "" said the woman, covering her face with her hands. 

It is a natural impulse, in every one, when they hear a tale 
of distress, to think of something to say by way of consola- 


364 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, 


tion. Emmeline wanted to say something, but she could 
not think of anything to say. What was there to be said ? 
As by a common consent, they both avoided, with fear 
and dread, all mention of the horrible man who was now 
their master. 

True, there is religious trust for even the darkest hour. 
The mulatto woman was a member of the Methodist Church, 
and had an unenlightened but very sincere spirit of piety. 
Emmeline had been educated much more intelligently, — 
taught to read and write, and diligently instructed in the 
Bible, by the care of a faithful and pious mistress ; yet, 
would it not try the faith of the firmest Christian, to find 
themselves abandoned, apparently, of God, in the grasp 
of ruthless violence ? How much more must it shake the 
faith of Christ’s poor little ones, weak in knowledge and 
tender in years ! 

The boat moved on, — freighted with its weight of sorrow, 
— up the red, muddy, turbid current, through the abrupt, 
tortuous windings of the Eed River ; and sad eyes gazed 
wearily on the steep red-clay banks, as they glided by in 
dreary sameness. At last the boat stopped at a small town, 
and Legree, with his party, disembarked. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

DAKK PLACES. 

“ The dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of 
cruelty.” 

Trailii^g wearily behind a rude wagon, and over a ruder 
road, Tom and his associates faced onward. 

In the wagon was seated Simon Legree ; and the two 
women, still fettered together, were stowed away with some 
baggage in the back part of it, and the whole company 
were seeking Legree’s plantation, which lay a good distance 
off. 

It was a wild, forsaken road, now winding through 
dreary pine barrens, where the wind whispered mournfully, 
and now over log causeways, through long cypress swamps, 
the doleful trees rising out of the slimy, spongy ground, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


365 


hung with long wreaths of funereal black moss, while ever 
and anon the loathsome form of the moccasin snake might 
he seen sliding among broken stumps and shattered 
branches that lay here and there, rotting in the water. 

It is disconsolate enough, this riding, to the stranger, 
who, with well-filled pocket and well-appointed horse, 
threads the lonely way on some errand of business ; but 
wilder, drearier, to the man enthralled whom every weary 
step bears further from all that man loves and prays for. 

So one should have thought, that witnessed the sunken 
and dejected expression on those dark faces ; the wistful, 
patient weariness with which those sad eyes rested on ob- 
ject after object that passed them in their sad journey. 

Simon rode on, however, apparently well pleased, occa- 
sionally pulling away at a flask of spirit, which he kept in 
his pocket. 

I say, you ! ” he said, as he turned back and caught a 
glance at the dispirited faces behind him ! Strike up a 
song, boys, — come ! 

The men looked at each other, and the was re- 

peated, with a smart crack of the whip which the driver 
carried in his hands. Tom began a Methodist hymn, 

“ Jerusalem, my happy home, 

Name ever dear to me ! 

When shall my sorrows have an end, 

Thy joys when shall ” 

Shut up, you black cuss I roared Legree ; did ye 
think I wanted any o' yer infernal old Methodism ? I say, 
tune up, now, something real rowdy, — quick ! " 

One of the other men struck up one of those unmean- 
ing songs, common among the slaves. 

“ Mas’r see’d me cotch a coon. 

High boys, high I 

He laughed to split, — d’ye see the moon, 

Ho I ho ! ho I boys, ho 1 
Ho I yo I hi — e I oh ! ” 

The singer appeared to make up the song to his own 
pleasure, generally hitting on rhyme, without much attempt 
at reason ; and all the party took up the chorus, at inter- 
vale. 


366 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


“ Ho ! ho ! hoi boys, ho ! 

High — e — oh ! high — e — oh ! ” 

It was sung very boisterously, and with a forced attempt 
at merriment, but no wail of despair, no words of im- 
passioned prayer, could have had such a depth of woe in 
them as the wild notes of the chorus. As if the poor, dumb 
heart, threatened, — prisoned, — took refuge in that inarti- 
culate sanctuary of music, and found there a language in 
which to breathe its prayer to God ! There was a prayer 
in it, which Simon could not hear. He only heard the 
boys singing noisily, and was well pleased ; he was making 
them ^^keep up their spirits. 

Well, my little dear,^^ said he, turning to Emmeline, 
and laying his hand on her shoulder, ^^weTe almost 
home ! ” 

When Legree scolded and stormed, Emmeline was ter- 
rified ; but when he laid his hand on her, and spoke as he 
now did, she felt as if she had rather he would strike her. 
The expression of his eyes made her soul sick, and her fiesh 
creep. Involuntarily she clung closer to the mulatto 
woman by her side, as if she were her mother. 

You didnT ever wear ear-rings, he said, taking hold 
of her small ear with his coarse fingers. 

No, MasT ! ” said Emmeline, trembling and looking 
down. 

Well, ril give you a pair, when we get home, if youTe 
a good girl. You neednT be so frightened ; I donT mean 
to make you work very hard. Youfil have fine times with 
me, and live like a lady, — only be a good girl.^^ 

Legree had been drinking to that degree that he was 
inclined to be very gracious ; and it was about this time 
that the enclosures of the plantation rose to view. The 
estate had formerly belonged to a gentleman of opulence 
and taste, who had bestowed some considerable attention 
to the adornment of his grounds. Having died insolvent, 
it had been purchased, at a bargain, by Legree, who used 
it, as he did everything else, merely as an implement for 
money-making. The place had that ragged, forlorn ap- 
pearance, which is always produced by the evidence that 
the care of the former owner has been left to go to utter 
decay. 

What was once a smooth-shaven lawn before the house, 
dotted here and there with ornamental shrubs, was now 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


367 


covered with frowsy tangled grass, with horse-posts set up, 
here and there, in it, where the turf was stamped away, 
and the ground littered with broken pails, cobs of corn, 
and other slovenly remains. Here and there, a mildewed 
jessamine or honeysuckle hung raggedly from some orna- 
mental support, which had been pushed to one side by be- 
ing used as a horse-post. What once was a large garden 
was now all grown over with weeds, through which, here 
and there, some solitary exotic reared its forsaken head. 
What had been a conservatory had now no window-sashes, 
and on the mouldering shelves stood some dry, forsaken 
flower-pots, with sticks in them, whose dried leaves showed 
they had once been plants. 

The wagon rolled up a weedy gravel walk, under a noble 
avenue of China trees, whose graceful forms and ever- 
springing foliage seemed to be the only things there that 
neglect could not daunt or alter, — ^like noble spirits, so 
deeply rooted in goodness, as to flourish and grow stronger 
amid discouragement and decay. 

The house had been large and handsome. It was built 
in a manner common at the South ; a wide verandah of 
two stories running round every part of the house, into 
which every outer door opened, the lower tier being sup- 
ported by brick pillars. 

But the place looked desolate and uncomfortable ; some 
windows stopped up with boards, some with shattered 
panes, and shutters hanging by a single hinge, — all telling 
of coarse neglect and discomfort. 

Bits of board, straw, old decayed barrels and boxes, 
garnished the ground in all directions ; and three or four 
ferocious-looking dogs, roused by the sound of the wagon- 
wheels, came tearing out, and were with difficulty re- 
strained from laying hold of Tom and his companions, by 
the effort of the ragged servants who came after them. 

Ye see what ye^d get ! said Legree, caressing the dogs 
with grim satisfaction, and turning to Tom and his com- 
panions. ^^Ye see what ye^d get, if ye try to run off. 
These yer dogs has been raised to track niggers ; and 
they^d jest as soon chaw one on ye up as eat their supper. 
So, mind yerself ! How now. Sambo ! he said, to a 
ragged fellow, without any brim to his hat, who was offi- 
cious in his attentions. How have things been going 

^"Fust rate, MasY." 

^^Quimbo,^^ said Legree to another, who was making 


368 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


zealous demonstrations to attract his attention, ye 
minded what I telled ye ? ” 

Guess I did, didn^tl?” 

These two colored men were the two principal hands on 
the plantation. Legree had trained them in savageness 
and brutality as systematically as he had his bull-dogs : 
and, by long practice in hardness and cruelty, brought 
their whole nature to about the same range of capacities. 
It is a common remark, and one that is thought to militate 
strongly against the character of the race, that the negro 
overseer is always more tyrannical and cruel than the white 
one. This is simply saying that the negro mind has been 
more crushed and debased than the white. It is no more 
true of this race than of every oppressed ^ce, the world 
over. The slave is always a tyrant, if he get a chance 
to be one. y 

Legree, like some potentates we r^d of in history, 
governed his plantation by a sort of^esolution of forces. 
Sambo and Quimbo cordially hat^ each other ; the plant- 
ation hands, one and all, cordhrfly hated them ; and, by 
playing off one against anoth^he was pretty sure, through 
one or the other of the th^e parties, to get informed of 
whatever was on foot in place. 

Nobody can live entji*ely without social intercourse ; 
and Legree encouraged' his two black satellites to a kind 
of coarse familiarity with him, — a familiarity, however, at 
any moment liable to get one or the other of them into 
trouble ; for, on the slightest provocation, one of them 
always stood ready, at a nod, to be a minister of his venge- 
ance on the other. 

As they stood there now by Legree, they seemed an apt 
illustration of the fact that brutal men are lower even than 
animals. Their coarse, dark, heavy features ; their great 
eyes, rolling enviously on each other ; their barbarous, 
guttural, half-brute intonation ; their dilapidated garments 
fluttering in the wind, — were all in admirable keeping 
with the vile and unwholesome character of everything 
about the place. 

Here, you Sambo,” said Legree, "" take these yer boys 
down to the quarters ; and beret’s a gal Fve got for you/^ 
said he, as he separated the mulatto woman from Emme- 
line, and pushed her towards him ; — I promised to bring 
you one, you know.” 


L,IFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 369 

The woman gave a sudden start, and, drawing back, 
said suddenly, 

0 Mash ! I left my old man in New Orleans/^ 

What of that, you ; won't you want one here ? 

None o' your words, — go 'long !" said Jjegree, raising his 
whip. 

Come, mistress," he said to Emmeline, you go in 
here with me." 

A dark, wild face was seen, for a moment, to glance at 
the window of the house ; and, as Legree opened the door, 
a female voice said something, in a quick, imperative tone. 
Tom, who was looking, with anxious interest, after Emme- 
line, as she went in, noticed this, and heard Legree answer, 
angrily, You may hold your tongue ! I'll do as I please, 
for all you ! " 

Tom heard no more ; for he was soon following Sambo 
to the quarters. The quarters was a little sort of street of 
rude shanties, in a row, in a part of the plantation, far off 
from the house. They had a forlorn, brutal, forsaken air. 
Tom's heart sunk when he saw them. He had been com- 
forting himself with the thought of a cottage, rude, indeed, 
hut one which he might make neat and quiet, and where 
he might have a shelf for his Bible, and a place to be alone 
out of his laboring hours. He looked into several ; they 
were mere rude shells, destitute of any species of furniture, 
except a heap of straw, foul with dirt, spread confusedly 
over the floor, which was merely the bare ground, trodde'n 
hard by the tramping of innumerable feet. 

Which of these will be mine ? " said he, to Sambo, 
submissively. 

Hunno ; ken turn in here, I s'po^e," said Sambo ; 

spects thar's room for another thar ; thar's a pretty 
smart heap o' niggers to each on 'em, now ; sure, I dunno 
what I's to do with more." 

;|c ^ 

It was late in the evening when the weary occupants of 
the shanties came flocking home, — men and women, in 
soiled and tattered garments, surly and uncomfortable, and 
in no mood to look pleasantly on newcomers. The small 
village was alive with no inviting sounds ; hoarse, guttural 
voices contending at the hand-mills where their morsel of 
24 


370 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


hard corn was yet to be ground into meal, to fit it for the 
cake that was to constitute their only supper. From the 
earliest dawn of the day, they had been in the fields, 
pressed to work under the driving lash of the overseers ; 
for it was now in the very heat and hurry of the season, 
and no means was left untried to press every one up to the 
top of their capabilities. True," says the negligent 
lounger ; picking cotton isnT hard work." IsnT it ? 
And it isnT much inconvenience, either, to have one drop 
of water fall on your head ; yet the worst torture of the 
inquisition is produced by drop after drop, drop after drop, 
falling moment after moment, with monotonous succes- 
sion, on the same spot ; and work, in itself not hard, 
becomes so, by being pressed, hour after hour, with unvary- 
ing, unrelenting sameness, with not even the conscious- 
ness of free-will to take from its tediousness. Tom looked 
in vain among the gang, as they poured along, for com- 
panionable faces. He saw only sullen, scowling, imbruted 
men, and feeble, discouraged women, or women that were 
not women, — the strong pushing away the weak, — the 
gross, unrestricted animal selfishness of human beings, of 
whom nothing good was expected and desired ; and who, 
treated in every way like brutes, had sunk as nearly to 
their level as it was possible for human beings to do. To 
a late hour in the night the sound of grinding was pro- 
tracted ; for the mills were few in number compared with 
the grinders, and the weary and feeble ones were driven 
back by the strong, and came on last in their turn. 

Ho yo ! " said Sambo, coming to the mulatto woman, 
and throwing down a bag of corn before her; what a 
cuss yo name ? ” 

Lucy," said the woman. 

Wal, Lucy, yo my woman now. Yo grind dis yer corn, 
and get 7ny supper baked, ye har ? " 

I anT your woman, and I wonT be ! " said the woman, 
with the sharp, sudden courage of despair ; you go 
fiong ! " 

ril kick yo, then I" said Sambo, raising his foot 
threateningly. 

Ye may kill me, if ye choose, — the sooner the better ! 
WishT I was dead ! " said she. 

I say. Sambo, you go to spilin^ the hands, Fll tell 
Has’'! o* you,"«aid Quimbo, who was busy at the mill, from 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 371 

which he had viciously driven two or three tired women, 
who were waiting to grind their corn. 

And I’ll tell him ye won’t let the women come to the 
mills, yo old nigger !” said Sambo. Yo jes keep to yo 
own row.” 

Tom was hungry with his day’s journey, and almost faint 
for want of food. 

Thar, yo ! ” said Quimbo, throwing down a coarse bag, 
which contained a peck of corn ; thar, nigger, grab, take 
car on’t, — yo won’t get no more, dis yer week.” 

Tom waited till a late hour, to get a place at the mills ; 
and then, moved by the utter weariness of two women, 
whom he saw trying to grind their corn there, he ground 
for them, put together the decaying brands of t& fire, 
where many had baked cakes before them, and then went 
about getting his own supper. It was a new kind of work 
there, — a deed of charity, small as it was ; but it woke an 
answering touch in their hearts, — an expression of womanly 
kindness came over their hard faces ; they mixed his cake 
for him, and tended its baking ; and Tom sat down by the 
light of the fire, and drew out his Bible, — for he had need 
of comfort. 

What’s that ? ” said one of the women. 

A Bible,” said Tom. 

Good Lord ! han’t seen un since I was in Kentuck.” 

Was you raised in Kentuck ?” said Tom, with interest. 

Yes, and well raised, too ; never ’spected to come to 
dis yer ! ” said the woman, sighing. 

What’s dat ar book, any way ? ” said the other woman. 

Why, the Bible.” 

Laws a me ! what’s dat ?” said the woman. 

Do tell ! you never hearn on’t ? ” said the other 
woman. I used to har Missis a-readin’ on’t, sometimes, 
in Kentuck ; but, laws o’ me ! we don’t har nothin’ here 
but crackin’ and swariiT.” 

Bead a piece, anyways ! ” said the first woman, curi- 
ously, seeing Tom attentively poring over it. 

Tom read, — Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” 

Them’s good words, enough,” said the woman ; who 

says ’em ? ” 

The Lord,” said Tom. 

I jest wish I know’d whar to find him,” said the 


372 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


woman. I would go ; Spears like I never should get 
rested agin. My flesh is fairly sore^ and I tremble all 
over, every day, and Samboes allers a- jawin'’ at me, ^cause 
I doesn^t pick faster ; and nights it's most midnight 'fore I 
can get my supper ; and den 'pears like I don't turn over 
and shut my eyes, 'fore I hear de horn blow to get up, and 
at it agin in de mornin'. If I knew whar de Lor' was, I'd 
tell him." 

He's here. He's everywhere," said Tom. 

Lor, you an't gwine to make me believe dat ar ! I 
know de Lord an't here," said the woman ; 'tan't no use 
talking, though. I's jest gwine to camp down, and sleep 
while I ken." 

The women went off to their cabins, and Tom sat alone, 
by the smouldering Are, that flickered up redly in his face. 

The silver, fair-browed moon rose in the purple sky, and 
looked down, calm and silent, as God looks on the scene of 
misery and oppression, — looked calmly on the lone black 
man, as he sat, with his arms folded, and his Bible on his 
knee. 

Is God HERE?" Ah, how is it possible for the un- 
taught heart to keep its faith, unswerving, in the face of 
dire misrule, and palpable, unrebuked injustice ? In that 
simple heart waged a flerce conflict : the crushing sense of 
wrong, the foreshadowing of a whole life of future misery, 
the wreck of all past hopes, mournfully tossing in the soul's 
sight, like dead corpses of wife, and child, and friend, ris- 
ing from the dark wave, and surging in the face of the 
half-drowned mariner ! Ah, was it easy here to believe 
and hold fast the great pass-word of Christian faith, that 

God IS, and is the re warder of them that diligently 
seek Him " ? 

Tom rose, disconsolate, and stumbled into the cabin that 
had been allotted to him. The floor was already strewn 
with weary sleepers, and the foul air of the place almost 
repelled him ; but the heavy night-dews were chill, and 
his limbs weary, and, wrapping about him a tattered 
blanket which formed his only bedclothing, he stretched 
himself in the straw and fell asleep. 

In dreams, a gentle voice came over his ear ; he was 
sitting on the mossy seat in the garden by Lake Pontchar- 
train, and Eva, with her serious eyes bent downward, was 
reading to him from the Bible ; and he heard her read, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


373 


When thou passest through the waters, 1 will be with 
thee, and the rivers they shall not overflow thee ; when 
thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, 
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee ; for I am the 
Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour/^ 
Gradually the words seemed to melt and fade, as in a di- 
vine music ; the child raised her deep eyes, and fixed them 
lovingly on him, and rays of warmth and comfort seemed 
to go from them to his heart ; and, as if wafted on the 
music, she seemed to rise on shining wings, from which flakes 
and spangles of gold fell off like stars, and she was gone. 

Tom woke. Was it a dream ? Let it pass for one. 
But who shall say that that sweet young spirit, which in 
life so yearned to comfort and console the distressed, was 
forbidden of God to assume this ministry after death ? 

It is a beautiful belief, 

That ever round our head 
Are hovering, on angel wings, 

The spirits of the dead. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

GASSY. 

“ And behold, the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had 
no comforter ; and on the side of their oppressors there was power, 
but they had no comforter.” — Eccl. 4:1. 

It took but a short time to familiarize Tom with all 
that was to be hoped or feared in his new way of life. He 
was an expert and efficient workman in whatever he under- 
took ; and was, both from habit and principle, prompt and 
faithful. Quiet and peaceable in his disposition, he hoped, 
by unremitting diligence, to avert from himself at least a 
portion of the evils of his condition. He saw enough of 
abuse and misery to make him sick and weary ; but he de- 
termined to toil on, with religious patience, committing 
himself to Him that judgeth righteously, not without hope 
that some way of escape might yet be opened to him. 

Legree took silent note of TonPs availability. He rated 
him as a first-class hand ; and yet he felt a secret dislike to 


B74 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


him, — the native antipathy of had to good. He saw, 
plainly, that when, as was often the case, his violence and 
brutality fell on the helpless, Tom took notice of it ; for, so 
subtle is the atmosphere of opinion that it will make itself 
felt, without words ; and the opinion even of a slave may an- 
noy a master. Tom in various ways manifested a tenderness 
of feeling, a commiseration for his fellow-sufferers, strange 
and new to them, which was watched with a jealous eye by 
Legree. He had purchased Tom with a view of eventually 
making him a sort of overseer, with whom he might, at 
times, intrust his affairs, in short absences ; and, in his 
view, the first, second, and third requisite for that place, 
was hardness. Legree made up his mind, that, as Tom 
was not hard to his hand, he would harden him forthwith ; 
and some few weeks after Tom had been on the place, he 
determined to commence the process. 

One morning, when the hands were mustered for the 
field Tom noticed, with surprise, a newcomer among 
them, whose appearance excited his attention. It was a 
woman, tall and slenderly formed, with remarkably delicate 
hands and feet, and dressed in neat and respectable gar- 
ments. By the appearance of her face, she might have 
been between thirty-five and forty ; and it was a face that, 
once seen, could never be forgotten, — one of those that, at a 
glance, seems to convey to us an idea of a wild, painful, 
and romantic history. Her forehead was high, and her eye- 
brows marked with beautiful clearness. Her straight, well- 
formed nose, her finely-cut mouth, and the graceful con- 
tour of her head and neck, showed that she must once 
have been beautiful ; but her face was deeply wrinkled 
with lines of pain, and of proud and bitter endurance. 
Her complexion was sallow and unhealthy, her cheeks thin, 
her features sharp, and her whole form emaciated. But 
her eye was the most remarkable feature, — so large, so 
heavily black, overshadowed by long lashes of equal dark- 
ness, and so wildly, mournfully despairing. There was a 
fierce pride and defiance in every line of her face, in every 
curve of the fiexible lip, in every motion of her body ; but 
in her eye was a deep, settled night of anguish, — an ex- 
pression so hopeless and unchanging as to contrast fear- 
fully with the scorn and pride expressed by her whole de- 
meanor. 

Where she came from, or who she was, Tom did not 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


375 


know. The first he did know, she was walking by his side, 
erect and proud, in the dim gray of the dawn. To the 
gang, however, she was known ; for there was much look- 
ing and turning of heads, and a smothered yet apparent 
exultation among the miserable, ragged, half-starved cre/^-t- 
ures by whom she was surrounded. 

Got to come to it, at last, — glad of it ! ” said one. 

He ! he ! he ! said another ; youfil know how good 
it is, Misse ! " 

Wefil see her work I” 

Wonder if she’ll get a cutting up, at night, like the 
rest of us ! ” 

I’d be glad to see her down for a flogging. I’ll bound ! ” 
said another. 

The woman took no notice of these taunts, but walked 
on, with the same expression of angry scorn, as if she heard 
nothing. Tom had always lived among refined and culti- 
vated people, and he felt intuitively, from her air and bear- 
ing, that she belonged to that class ; but how or why she 
could be fallen to those degrading circumstances, he could 
not tell. The woman neither looked at him nor spoke to 
him, though, all the way to the field, she kept close at his 
side. 

Tom was soon busy at his work ; but, as the woman was 
at no great distance from him, he often glanced an eye to 
her, at her work. He saw, at a glance, that a native adroit- 
ness and handiness made the task to her an easier one than 
it proved to many. She picked very fast and very clean, 
and with an air of scorn, as if she despised both the work 
and the disgrace and humiliation of the circumstances in 
which she was placed. 

In the course of the day, Tom was working near the 
mulatto woman who had been bought in the same lot with 
himself. She was evidently in a condition of great suffer- 
ing, and Tom often heard her praying, as she wavered and 
trembled, and seemed about to fall down. Tom silently, 
as he came near to her, transferred several handfuls of cot- 
ton from his own sack to hers. 

0, don’t, don’t ! ” said the woman, looking surprised ; 

it’ll get you into trouble.” 

Just then Sambo came up. He seemed to have a special 
spite against this woman ; and, flourishing his whip, said, 
in brutal, guttural tones, What dis yer. Luce, — foolin’ 


376 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


and, with the word, kicking the woman with his 
heavy cowhide shoe, he struck Tom across the face with 
his whip. 

Tom silently resumed his task ; but the woman, before 
at the last point of exhaustion, fainted. 

Fll bring her to ! said the driver, with a brutal grin. 

111 give her something better than camphire ! and, tak- 
ing a pin from his coat-sleeve, he buried it to the head in 
her flesh. The woman groaned, and half rose. ^^Get 
up, you beast, and work, will yer, or 111 show yer a trick 
more ! ” 

The woman seemed stimulated, for a few moments, to 
an unnatural strength, and worked with desperate eagerness. 

^^See that you keep to dat ar,^^ said the man, ^^or yell 
wish yeFs dead to-night, I reckin ! 

That I do now ! Tom heard her say ; and again he 
heard her say, 0 Lord, how long ! 0 Lord why donl 

you help us ? 

At the risk of all that he might suffer, Tom came for- 
ward again, and put all the cotton in his sack into the 
woman^s. 

0, you mustnT ! you donno what theyll do to ye ! said 
the woman. 

I can bar it ! said Tom, betteFn you ; ” and he was 
at his place again. It passed in a moment. 

Suddenly, the stranger woman whom we have described, 
and who had, in the course of her work, come near enough 
to hear Tom^s last words, raised her heavy black eyes, and 
fixed them, for a second, on him ; then, taking a quantity 
of cotton from her basket, she placed it in his. 

^^You know nothing about this place, she said, ^^or 
you wouldnT have done that. When youVe been here a 
month, youll be done helping anybody ; youll find it hard 
enough to take care of your own skin ! 

The Lord forbid. Missis ! said Tom, using instinc- 
tively to his field companion the respectful form proper to 
the high bred with whom he had lived. 

The Lord never visits these parts,” said the woman, 
bitterly, as she went nimbly forward with her work ; and 
again the scornful smile curled her lips. 

But the action of the woman had been seen by the driver, 
across the field ; and, flourishing his whip, he came up to 
her. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


377 


Wliat ! what ! he said to the woman, with an air of 
triumph, you a-foolin^ ? Go along ! yer under me now, 
— mind yourself, or yer^ll cotch it ! " 

A glance like sheet-lightning suddenly flashed from those 
black eyes ; and, facing about, with quivering lip and di- 
lated nostrils, she drew herself up, and flxed a glance, blaz- 
ing with rage and scorn, on the driver. 

Dog ! she said, touch me, if you dare ! IVe power 
enough, yet, to have you torn by the dogs, burnt alive, cut 
to inches ! IVe only to say the word ! ” 

^^What de devil you here for, den?*’^ said the man, 
evidently cowed, and sullenly retreating a step or two. 
DidnV mean no harm, Misse Gassy ! 

Keep your distance, then ! ” said the woman. And, in 
truth, the man seemed greatly inclined to attend to some- 
thing at the other end of the field, and started ofl in quick 
time. 

The woman suddenly turned to her work, and labored 
with a despatch that was perfectly astonishing to Tom. 
She seemed to work by magic. Before the day was through, 
her basket was filled, crowded down, and piled, and she 
had several times put largely into TomV. Long after dusk, 
the whole weary train, with their baskets on their heads, 
defiled up to the building appropriated to the storing and 
weighing the cotton. Legree was there, busily conversing 
with the two drivers. 

Dat ar TomV gwineto make a powerful deal oVrouble ; 
kept a-puttin^ into Lucy^s basket. — One o^ these yer dat 
will get all der niggers to feelin^ ^bused, if MasV don^’t 
watch him ! said Sambo. 

Hey-dey ! The black cuss ! ” said Legree. Hefil 
have to get a breakin^ in, won^t he, boys ? 

Both negroes grinned a horrid grin, at this intimation. 

Ay, ay ! let MasV Legree alone, for breakin'’ in ! De 
debil heself couldn't beat "Mas'r at dat ! " said Quimbo. 

Wal, boys, the best way is to give him the flogging to 
do, till he gets over his notions. Break him in ! " 

^^Lord, MasVll have hard work to get dat out’ o' 
him ! " 

It'll have to come out of him, though ! " said Legree, 
as he rolled his tobacco in his mouth. 

Kow, dar's Lucy, — de aggravatinest, ugliest wench on 
de place ! " pursued Sambo, 


378 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Take care, Sam ; I shall begin to think what^s the 
reason for your spite agin Lucy/^ 

^'Well, Mas^r knows she sot herself up agin Mas’r, and 
wouldnT have me, when he telledher 

I^d a flogged her intoT,^^ said Legree, spitting, only 
there^s such a press o^ work, it donT seem wuth a while to 
upset her jist now. She^s slender ; but these yer slender 
gals will bear half killin^ to get their own way ! 

Wal, Lucy was real aggravating and lazy, sulkin’ round ; 
wouldn’t do nothin’, — and Tom he tuck up for her.” 

^‘^He did, eh ! Wal, then, Tom shall have the pleasure 
of flogging her. It’ll be a good practice for him, and he 
won’t put it on to the gal like you devils, neither.” 

Ho, ho ! haw ! haw ! haw ! ” laughed both the sooty 
wretches ; and the diabolical sounds seemed, in truth, a not 
unapt expression of the flendish character which Legree 
gave them. 

Wal, but, Mas’r, Tom and Misse Gassy, and dey among 
’em, fllled Lucy’s basket. I ruther guess der weight’s in 
it, Mas’r !” 

I do the weighing ! ” said Legree, emphatically. 

Both the drivers again laughed their diabolical laugh. 

‘^So !” he added, Misse Gassy did her day’s work.” 
She picks like de debil and all his angels ! ” 

She’s got ’em all in her, I believe ! ” said Legree ; and 
growling a brutal oath, he proceeded to the weighing- 
room. 

4: * ♦ 4: « 

Slowly the weary, dispirited creatures, wound their way 
into the room, and, with crouching reluctance, presented 
their baskets to be weighed. 

Legree noted on a slate, on the side of which was pasted 
a list of names, the amount. 

Tom’s basket was weighed and approved ; and he looked, 
with an anxious glance, for the success of the woman he 
had befriended. 

Tottering with weakness, she came forward, and de- 
livered her basket. It was of full weight, as Legree well 
perceived ; but, affecting anger, he said. 

What, you lazy beast ! short again ! stand aside, you’ll 
catch it, pretty soon ! ” 














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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


379 


The woman gave a groan of utter despair, and sat down 
on a board. 

The person who had been called Misse Cassy now come 
forward, and with a haughty, negligent air, delivered her 
basket. As she delivered it, Legree looked in her eyes 
with a sneering and yet inquiring glance. 

She fixed her black eyes steadily on him, her lips moved 
slightly, and she said something in French. What it was, 
no one knew ; but Legree^’s face became perfectly demoni- 
acal in its expression, as she spoke ; he half raised his hand, 
as if to strike, — a gesture which she regarded with fierce 
disdain, as she turned and walked away. 

And now,^^ said Legree, come here, you Tom. You 
see, I tolled ye I didn^t buy ye jest for the common work ; 
I mean to promote ye, and make a driver of ye ; and to- 
night ye may jest as well begin to get yer hand in. Now, 
ye jest take this yer gal and flog her ; yeVe seen enough 
oWt to know how.^^ 

I beg Mas^Fs pardon, said Tom ; hopes Mas^r won^t 
set me at that. IFs what I an^t used to, — never did, — and 
can^t do no way possible. 

Yefil larn a pretty smart chance of things ye never did 
know, before IVe done with ye ! said Legree, taking up 
a cowhide, and striking Tom a heavy blow across the cheek, 
and following up the infliction by a shower of blows. 

There ! he said, as he stopped to rest ; now, will ye 
tell me ye canT do it ? 

Yes, MasY," said Tom, putting up his hand, to wipe 
the blood, that trickled down his face. I^’m willin^ to 
work, night and day, and work while thereY life and breath 
in me ; but this yer thing I canY feel it right to do ; — and, 
MasY, I never shall do it, — never ! " 

Tom had a remarkably smooth, soft voice, and a habit- 
ually respectful manner, that had given Legree an idea that 
he would be cowardly, and easily subdued. When he spoke 
these last words, a thrill of amazement went through every 
one ; the poor woman clasped her hands, and said, 0 
Lord ! and every one involuntarily looked at each other 
and drew in their breath as if to prepare for the storm that 
was about to burst. 

Legree looked stupefied and confounded ; but at last burst 
forth, — 

What ! ye blasted black beast ! tell me ye donY think 


380 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; ON 


it right to do what I tell ye ! What have any of you cussed 
cattle to do with thinking what^s right ? 1^11 put a stop to 
it ! Why, what do ye think ye are ? May be ye think ye^r 
a gentleman. Master Tom, to be a-telling your master what^s 
right, and what anT ! So you pretend it^’s wrong to flog the 

I think so, Mas’r,^^ said Tom ; ^^the poor crittur^s sick 
and feeble ; Twould be downright cruel, and it^s what I 
never will do, nor begin to. MasT, if you mean to kill me, 
kill me ; but as to my raising my hand agin any one here, 
I never shall, — Fll die first ! ” 

Tom spoke in a mild voice, but with a decision that could 
not be mistaken. Legree shook with anger ; his greenish 
eyes glared fiercely, and his very whiskers seemed to curl 
with passion ; but, like some ferocious beast, that plays with 
its victim before he devours it, he kept back his strong im- 
pulse to proceed to immediate violence, and broke out into 
bitter raillery. 

Well, here^s a pious dog, at last let down among us sin- 
ners ! — a saint, a gentleman, and no less, to talk to us sin- 
ners about our sins ! Powerful holy critter, he must be ! 
Here, you rascal, you make believe to be so pious, — didn^t 
you never hear, out of yer Bible, ^ Servants, obey yer mas- 
ters ^ ? AnT I yer master ? Didn’t I pay down twelve hun- 
dred dollars cash, for all there is inside yer old cussed black 
shell ? An’t yer mine, now, body and soul ? ” he said, 
giving Tom a violent kick with his heavy boot ; tell 
me ! ” 

In the very depth of physical suffering, bowed by brutal 
oppression, this question shot a gleam of joy and triumph 
through Tom’s soul. He suddenly stretched himself up, 
and, looking earnestly to heaven, while the tears and blood 
that flowed down his face mingled, he exclaimed, 

^^hTo ! no ! no ! my soul an’t yours, Mas’r ! You haven’t 
bought it, — ye can’t buy it ! It’s been bought and paid 
for, by One that is able to keep it ; — no matter, no matter, 
you can’t harm me ! ” 

I can’t ! ” said Degree,, with a sneer ; “ we’ll see, — we’ll 
see ! Here, Sambo, Quimbo, give this dog such a-breakin’ 
in as he won’t get over this month ! ” 

The two gigantic negroes that now laid hold of Tom, 
with fiendish exultation in their faces, might have formed 
no unapt personification of the powers of darkness. The 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


381 


poor woman screamed with apprehension, and all rose, as by 
a general impulse, while they dragged him unresisting from 
the place. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE QUADKOOH^S STORY. 

And behold the tears of such as are oppressed ; and on the side 
of their oppressors there was power. Wherefore I praised the 
dead that are already dead more than the living that are yet 
“live.— E ccl. 4 : i. 

It was late at night, and Tom lay groaning and bleeding 
alone, in an old forsaken room of the gin-house, among 
pieces of broken machinery, piles of damaged cotton, and 
other rubbish which had there accumulated. 

The night was damp and close, and the thick air swarmed 
with myriads of mosquitos, which increased the restless 
torture of his wounds ; whilst a burning thirst — a torture 
beyond all others — filled up the uttermost measure of physi- 
cal anguish. 

0, good Lord ! Do look down, — give me the victory ! 
give me the victory over all ! prayed poor Tom, in his 
anguish. 

A footstep entered the room, behind him, and the light 
of a lantern flashed on his eyes. 

Who^s there ? 0, for the Lord^s massy, please give me 

some water ! 

The woman Cassy — for it was she — set down her lantern, 
and, pouring water from a bottle, raised his head, and gave 
him drink. Another and another cup were drained, with 
feverish eagerness. 

Drink all ye want,^^ she said ; ‘‘1 knew how it would 
be. It isnT the first time IWe been out in the night, carry- 
ing water to such as you.” 

Thank you. Missis,” said Tom, when he had done 
drinking. 

DonT call me Missis ! I^m a miserable slave, like your- 
self, — a lower one than you can ever be ! ” said she, bitterly ; 

but now,” said she, going to the door, and dragging in a 
small pallaise, over which she had spread linen cloths wet 
with cold water, try, my poor fellow, to roll yourself on 
to this.” 


382 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Stiff with wounds and bruises, Tom was a long time in 
accomplishing this movement ; but, when done, he felt a 
sensible relief from the cooling application to his wounds. 

The woman, whom long practice with the victims of 
brutality had made familiar with many healing arts, went 
on to make many applications to Tom^s wounds, by means 
of which he was soon somewhat relieved. 

^^Now,^^ said the woman, when she had raised his head 
on a roll of damaged cotton, which served for a pillow, 
there^s the best I can do for you.^^ 

Tom thanked her ; and the woman, sitting down on the 
floor, drew up her knees, and embracing them with her 
arms, looked fixedly before her, with a bitter and painful 
expression of countenance. Her bonnet fell back, and 
long wavy streams of black hair fell around her singular 
and melancholy face. 

Ik’s no use, my poor fellow ! she broke out, at last, 
it’s of no use, this you’ve been trying to do. You were 
a brave fellow, — you had the right on your side ; but it’s 
all in vain, and out of the question, for you to struggle. 
You are in the devil’s hands ; — he is the strongest, and 
you must give up ! ” 

Give up ! and had not human weakness and physical 
agony whispered that, before ? Tom started ; for the 
bitter woman, with her wild eyes and melancholy voice, 
seemed to him an embodiment of the temptation with 
which he had been wrestling. 

0 Lord ! 0 Lord ! ” he groaned^ how can I give 
up?” 

There’s no use calling on the Lord, — He never hears,” 
said the woman, steadily ; there isn’t any God, I believe ; 
or, if there is. He’s taken sides against us. All goes 
against us, heaven and earth. Everything is pushing us 
into hell. Why shouldn’t we go ? ” 

Tom closed his eyes, and shuddered at the dark, atheistic 
words. 

'^You see,” said the woman, you don’t know any. 
thing about it ; — I do. I’ve been on this place five years, 
body and soul, under this man’s foot ; and I hate him as 
I do the devil ! Here you are, on a lone plantation, ten 
miles from any other, in the swamps ; not a white j^erson 
here, who could testify if you were burned alive, — if you 
were scalded, cut into inch-pieces, set up for the dogs to 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


383 


tear, or hung up and whipped to death. There’s no law 
here, of God or man, that can do you, or any one of us, 
the least good ; and, this man ! there’s no earthly thing 
that he’s too good to do. I could make any one’s hair rise, 
and their teeth chatter, if I should only tell what I’ve seen 
and been knowing to, here, — and it’s no use resisting ! 
Did I want to live with him ? Wasn’t I a woman deli- 
cately bred ; and he — God in Heaven ! what was he, and is 
he ? And yet I’ve lived with him, these five years, and 
cursed every moment of my life, — night and day ! And 
now, he’s got a new one, — a young thing, only fifteen, and 
she brought up, she says, piously. Her good mistress 
taught her to read the Bible ; and she’s brought her Bible 
here — to hell with her ! ” — and the woman laughed a wild 
and doleful laugh, that rung, with a strange, supernatural 
sound, through the old ruined shed. 

Tom folded his hands : all was darkness and horror. 

0 Jesus ! Lord Jesus ! have you quite forgot us poor 
critters ?” burst forth, at last ; — help. Lord, I perish ! ” 
The woman sternly continued : 

And what are these miserable low dogs you work with, 
that you should suffer on their account ? Every one of 
them would turn against you the first time they got a 
chance. They are all of ’em as low and cruel to each 
other as they can be ; there’s no use in your suffering to 
keep from hurting them.” 

Poor critters ! ” said Tom, — what made ’em cruel ? — 
and, if I give out, I shall get used to’t, and grow, little by 
little, just like ’em ! No, no. Missis ! I’ve lost every- 
thing, — wife, and children, and home, and a kind Mas’r, 
— and he would have set me free, if he’d only lived a week 
longer ; I’ve lost everything in this world, and it’s clean 
gone, forever, — and now I canH lose Heaven, too ; no, I 
can’t get to be wicked, besides all ! ” 

^^But it can’t be that the Lord will lay sin_ to our 
account,” said the woman : He won’t charge it to us, 
when we’re forced to it ; He’ll charge it to them that drove 
us to it.” 

Yes,” said Tom ; ^^but that won’t keep us from grow- 
ing wicked. If I get to be as hard-hearted as that ar’ 
Sambo, and as wicked, it won’t make much odds to me 
how I come so ; it’s the bein^ so , — that ar’s what I’m a 
dreadin.’ ” 


384 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


The woman fixed a wild and startled look on Tom, as if 
a new thought had struck her ; and then, heavily groan- 
ing, said, 

0 God a^ mercy ! you speak the truth ! 0 — 0 — 0 ! ” 
— and, with groans, she fell on the floor, like one crushed 
and writhing under the extremity of mental anguish. 

There was a silence, a while, in which the breathing of 
both parties could be heard, when Tom faintly said, 0, 
please. Missis ! ” 

The woman suddenly rose up, with her face composed to 
its usual stern, melancholy expression. 

Please, Missis, I saw "’em throw my coat in that ar* cor- 
ner, and in my coat-pocket is my Bible ; — if Missis would 
please get it for me.” 

Gassy went and got it. Tom opened, at once, to a 
heavily marked passage, much worn, of the last scenes in 
the life of Him by whose stripes we are healed. 

If Missis would only be so good as to read that aP, — 
iPs better than water.” 

Gassy took the hook, with a dry, proud air, and looked 
over the passage. She then read aloud, in a soft voice, 
and with a beauty of intonation that was peculiar that touch- 
ing account of anguish and of glory. Often, as she read, 
her voice faltered, and sometimes failed her altogether, 
when she would stop, with an air of rigid composure, till 
she had mastered herself. When she came to the touch- 
ing words, Father, forgive them, for they know not 
what they do,” she threw down the hook, and burying her 
face in the heavy masses of her hair, she sobbed aloud, 
with a convulsive violence. 

Tom was weeping, also, and occasionally uttering a 
smothered ejaculation. 

If we only could keep up to that aP ! ” said Tom ; — it 
seemed to come so natural to him, and we have to fight so 
hard foPt ! 0 Lord, help us ! 0 blessed Lord Jesus, do 

help us ! ” 

Missis,” said Tom, after a while, ^^I can see that, 
somehow, you^re quite "’hove me in everything ; but 
there^s one thing Missis might learn even from poor 
Tom. Ye said the Lord took sides against us, because he 
lets us be ^bused and knocked round ; but ye see what 
come on his own Son, — the blessed Lord of Glory, — wa^nt 
he allays poor ? and have we, any on us, yet come so low 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


385 


as he come ? The Lord lianT forgot us, — Lm sartin" o’ 
that ar’. If we suffer with him, we shall also reign. 
Scripture says ; but, if we deny him, he also will deny 
us. Didn’t they all suffer ? — the Lord and all his ? It 
tells how they was stoned and sawn asunder, and wandered 
about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, and was destitute, 
afflicted, tormented. Sufferin’ an’t no reason to make us 
think the Lord’s turned agin’ us ; but jest the contrary, if 
only we hold on to him, and doesn’t give up to sin.” 

But why does he put us where we can’t help but sin ?” 
said the woman. 

I think we can help it,” said Tom. 

You’ll see,” said Gassy ; what’ll you do ? To-morrow 
they’ll be at you again. I know ’em ; I’ve seen all their 
doings ; I can’t bear to think of all they’ll bring you to ; — 
and they’ll make you give out, at last ! ” 

Lord Jesus ! ” said Tom, You will take care of my 
soul ? 0 Lord, do ! — don’t let me give out ! ” 

0 dear ! ” said Gassy ; I’ve heard all this crying and 
praying before ; and yet, they’ve been broken down, and 
brought under. There’s Emmeline, she’s trying to hold 
on, and you’re trying, — but what use ? You must give 
up, or be killed by inches.” 

^^Well, then, I m7?die!” said Tom. ^^Spin it out as 
long as they can, they can’t help my dying, some time ! — 
and, after that, they can’t do no more. I’m clar. I’m set ! 
I know the Lord’ll help me, and bring me through.” 

The woman did not answer ; she sat with her black eyes 
intently fixed on the fioor. 

May be it’s the way,” she murmured to herself ; ^^but 
those that have given up, there’s no hope for them ! — 
none ! We live in filth, and grow loathsome, till we loathe 
ourselves ! And we long to die, and we don’t dare to kill 
ourselves ! — No hope ! no hope ! no hope ! — this girl now, — 
just as old as I was ! 

^‘^You see me now,” she said, speaking to Tom very 
rapidly ; "'see what I am! Well, I was brought up in 
luxury ; the first I remember is, playing about, when I was 
a child, in splendid parlors ; — when I was kept dressed up 
like a doll, and company and visitors used to praise me. 
There was a garden opening from the saloon windows ; and 
there I used to play hide-and-go-seek, under the orange-trees, 
•with my brothers and sisters. I went to a convent, and 
25 


386 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


there I learned music, French, and embroidery, and what 
not ; and when I was fourteen, I came out to my father's 
funeral. He died very suddenly, and when the property 
came to be settled, they found that there was scarcely 
enough to cover the debts ; and when the creditors took 
an inventory of the property, I was set down in it. My 
mother was a slave woman, and my father had always meant 
to set me free ; but he had not done it, and so I was set 
down in the list. I'd always known who I was, but never 
thought much about it. Nobody ever expects that a strong, 
healthy man is a-going to die. My father was a well man 
only four hours before he died ; — it was one of the first 
cholera cases in New Orleans. The day after the funeral, 
my father's wife took her children, and went up to her 
father's plantation. I thought they treated me strangely, 
but didn't know. There was a young lawyer who they left 
to settle the business ; and he came every day, and was 
about the house, and spoke very politely to me. He 
brought with him, one day, a young man, whom I thought 
the handsomest I had ever seen. I shall never forget that 
evening. I walked with him in the garden. I was lone- 
some and full of sorrow, and he was so kind and gentle to 
me ; and he told me that he had seen me before I went to 
the convent, and that he had loved me a great while, and 
that he would be my friend and protector ; — in short, 
though he didn't tell me, he had paid two thousand dollars 
for me, and I was his property, — I became his willingly, 
for I loved him. Loved ! " said the woman, stopping, 
0, how I did love that man 1 How I love him now, — 
and always shall, while I breathe ! He was so beautiful, 
so high, so noble ! He put me into a beautiful house, with 
servants, horses, and carriages, and furniture, and dresses. 
Everything that money could buy, he gave me ; but I didn't 
set any value on all that, — I only cared for him. I loved 
him better than my God and my own soul ; and if I tried, 
I couldn't do any other way from what he wanted me to. 

1 wanted only one thing. I did want him to marry 
me. I thought, if he loved me as he said he did, and if I 
was what he seemed to think I was, he would be willing to 
marry me and set me free. But he convinced me that it 
would be impossible ; and he told me that, if we were only 
faithful to each other, it was marriage before God. If that 
is true, wasn't I that man's wife ? Wasn't I faithful ? For 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


387 


seven years, didn^t I study every look and motion, and only 
live and breathe to please him ? He had the yellow fever, 
and for twenty days and nights I watched with him. I 
alone, — and gave him all his medicine, and did everything 
for him ; and then he called me his good angel, and said Fd 
saved his life. We had two beautiful children. The first 
was a boy, and we called him Henry. He was the image 
of his father, — he had such beautiful eyes, such a forehead, 
and his hair hung all in curls around it ; and he had all hio 
father’s spirit, and his talent, too. Little Elise, he said, 
looked like me. He used to tell me that I was the most 
beautiful woman in Louisiana, he was so proud of me and 
the children. He used to love to have me dress them up, 
and take them and me about in an open carriage, and hear 
the remarks that people would make on us, and he used to 
fill my ears constantly with the fine things that were said 
in praise of me and the children. 0, those were happy 
days ! I thought I was as happy as any one could be ; but 
then there came evil times. He had a cousin come to 
Hew Orleans, who was his particular friend, — he thought 
all the world of him ; — but, from the first time I saw him, 
I couldn’t tell why , I dreaded him ; for I felt sure he was 
going to bring misery on us. He got Henry to going out 
with him, and often he would not come home nights till two 
or three o’clock. I did not dare say a word ; for Henry 
was so high-spirited, I was afraid to. He got him to the 
gaming-houses ; and he was one of the sort that, when he 
once got a-going there, there was no holding back. And 
then he introduced him to another lady, and I saw soon 
that his heart was gone from me. He never told me, but 
I saw it, — I knew it, day after day, — I felt my heart break- 
ing, but I could not say a word ! At this the wretch offered 
to buy me and the children of Henry, to clear off his gam- 
bling debts, which stood in the way of his marrying as he 
wished ; — and he sold us. He told me, one day that he had 
business in the country, and should be gone two or three 
weeks. He spoke kinder than usual, and said he should 
come back ; but it didn’t deceive me. I knew that the 
time had come ; I was just like one turned into stone ; I 
couldn’t speak, nor shed a tear. He kissed me and kissed 
the children, a good many times, and went out. I saw 
him get on his horse, and I watched him till he was quite 
out of sight ; and then I fell down, and fainted. 


388 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Then he came, the cursed wretch ! he came to take 
possession. He told me that he had bought me and my 
children ; and showed me the papers. I cursed him be- 
fore God, and told him Fd die sooner than live with him. 

^^‘Just as you please,^ said he ; ‘^but, if you donT be- 
have reasonably, Idl sell both the children, where you shall 
never see them again. ^ He told me that he always had 
meant to have me, from the first time he saw me ; and that 
he had drawn Henry on, and got him in debt, on purpose 
to make him willing to sell me. That he got him in love 
with another woman ; and that I might know, after all 
that, that he should not give up for a few airs and tears, 
and things of that sort. 

I gave up, for my hands were tied. He had my chil- 
dren ; — whenever I resisted his will anywhere, he would 
talk about selling them, and he made me as submissive as 
he desired. 0, what a life it was ! to live with my heart 
breaking, every day, — to keep on, on, on, loving, when it 
was only misery ; and to be bound, body and soul,, to one 
I hated. I used to love to read to Henry, to play to him, 
to waltz with him, and sing to him ; but everything I did 
for this one was a perfect drag, — yet I was afraid to refuse 
anything. He was very imperious, and harsh to the chil- 
dren. Elise was a timid little thing ; but Henry was 
bold and high-spirited, like his father, and he had never 
been brought under, in the least, by any one. He was 
always finding fault, and quarrelling with him ; and I 
used to live in daily fear and dread. I tried to make the 
child respectful ; — I tried to keep them apart, for I held 
on to those children like death ; but it did no good. He 
sold both those children. He took me to ride, one day, 
and when I came home, they were nowhere to be found ! 
He told me he had sold them ; he showed me the money, 
the price of their blood. Then it seemed as if all good 
forsook me. I raved and cursed, — cursed God and man ; 
and, for a while, I believe, he really was afraid of me. But 
he didnT give up so. He told me that my children were 
sold, but whether I ever saw their faces again, depended 
on him ; and that, if I wasnT quiet, they should smart for 
it. Well, you can do anything with a woman, when youVe 
got her children. He made me , submit ; he made me be 
peaceable ; he fiattered me with hopes that, perhaps, he 
would buy them back ; and so things went on a week or 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


88b 


two. One day, I v/as outwalking, and passed by the cala- 
boose ; I saw a crowd about the gate, and heard a child^a 
voice, — and suddenly my Henry broke away from two or 
three men who were holding him, and ran, screaming, and 
caught my dress. They came up to him, swearing dread- 
fully ; and one man, whose face I shall never forget, told 
him that he wouldnT get away so ; that he was going 
with him into the calaboose, and lie^’d get a lesson there 
he^d never forget. I tired to beg and plead, — they only 
laughed ; the poor boy screamed and looked into my face, 
and held on to me, until, in tearing him off, they tore the 
skirt of my dress half away; and they carried him in, 
screaming ‘ Mother ! mother ! mother ! •’ There was one 
man stood there seemed to pity me. I offered him all the 
money I had, if heM only interfere. He shook his head, 
and said that the man said the boy had been impudent and 
disobedient ever since he bought him ; that he was going to 
break him in, once for all. I turned and ran ; and every 
step of the way, I thought that I heard him scream. I 
got into the house ; ran, all out of breath, to the parlor, 
where I found Butler. I told him, and begged him to go 
and interfere. He only laughed, and told me the boy had 
got his deserts. HeM got to be broken in, — the sooner the 
better ; ^ what did I exp€>ct ? ^ he asked. 

It seemed to me something in my head snapped, at 
that moment. I felt dizzy and furious. I remember see- 
ing a great sharp bowie-knife on the table ; I remember 
something about catching it, and flying upon him ; and 
then all grew dark, and I didnT know any more — not for 
days and days. 

When I came to myself, I was in a nice room, — but 
not mine. An old black woman tended me ; and a doctor 
came to see me, and there was a great deal of care taken 
of me. After a while, I found that he had gone away, 
and left me at this house to be sold ; and that^s why they 
took such pains with me. 

I didnT mean to get well, and hoped I shouldnT ; but 
in spite of me, the fever went off, and I grew healthy, and 
finally got up. Then, they made me dress up, every day ; 
and gentlemen used to come in and stand and smoke their 
cigars, and look at me, and ask questions, and debate my 
price. I was so gloomy and silent, that none of them 
wanted me. They threatened to whip me, if I wasnT 


390 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


gayer, and didn^t take some pains to make myself agreeable. 
At length, one day, came a gentleman named Stuart. He 
seemed to have some feeling for me ; and he saw that 
something dreadful was on my heart, and he came to see 
me alone, a great many times, and finally persuaded me to 
tell him. He bought me, at last, and promised to do all 
he could to find and buy back my children. He went to 
the hotel where my Henry was ; they told him he had 
been sold to a planter up on Pearl River ; that was the last 
that I ever heard. Then he found where my daughter 
was ; an old woman was keeping her. He offered an im- 
mense sum for her, but they would not sell her. Butler 
found out that it was for me he wanted her ; and he sent 
me word that I should never have her. Captain Stuart 
was very kind to me ; he had a splendid plantation, and 
took me to it. In the course of a year, I had a son born. 
0, that child ! — how I loved it ! How just like my poor 
Henry the little thing looked ! But I had made up my ' 
mind, — yes, I had. I would never again let a child live 
to grow up ! I took the little fellow in my arms, when he 
was two weeks old, and kissed him, and cried over him ; 
and then I gave him laudanum, and held him close to my 
bosom, while he slept to death. How I mourned and cried 
over it ! and who ever dreamed that it was anything but a 
mistake, that had made me give it the laudanum ? but iPs 
one of the few things that I^m glad of, now. I am not 
sorry, to this day ; he, at least, is out of pain. What better 
than death could I give him, poor child ! After a while, 
the cholera came, and Captain Stuart died ; everybody 
died that wanted to live, — and I, — I, though I went down to 
death’s door, — I lived! Then I was sold, and passed from 
hand to hand, till I grew faded and wrinkled, and I had a 
fever ; and then this wretch bought me, and brought me 
here, — and here lam!” 

The woman stopped. She had hurried on through her 
story, with a wild, passionate utterance ; sometimes seem- 
ing to address it to Tom, and sometimes speaking as in a so- 
liloquy. So vehement and overpowering was the force 
with which she spoke, that, for a season, Tom was beguiled 
even from the pain of his wounds, and, raising himself on 
one elbow, watched her as she paced restlessly up and 
down, her long black hair swaying heavily about her, as 
she moved. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


391 


You tell me,” she said, after a pause, ^^that there is 
a God, — a God that looks down and sees all these things. 
May be it^s so. The sisters in the convent used to tell me 
of a day of judgment, when everything is coming to light ; 
wonT there he vengeance then ! 

^^They think it's nothing, what we suffer, — nothing, 
what our children suffer ! It's all a small matter ; yet I've 
walked the streets when it seemed as if I had misery 
enough in my one heart to sink the city. I've wished the 
houses would fall on me, or the stones sink under me. 
Yes ! and, in the judgment day, I will stand up before God, 
a witness against those that have ruined me and my chil' 
dren, body and soul ! 

When I was a girl, I thought I was religious ; I used 
to love God and prayer. Now, I'm a lost soul, pursued 
by devils that torment me day and night ; they keep push- 
ing me on and on — and I'll do it, too, some of these days ! ” 
she said, clenching her hand, while an insane light glanced 
in her heavy, black eyes. I'll send him where he belongs, 
— a short way, too, — one of these nights, if they burn 
me alive for it ! '' A wild, long laugh rang through the 
deserted room, and ended in a hysteric sob ; she threw her- 
self on the floor, in convulsive sobbings and struggles. 

In a few moments, the frenzy fit seemed to pass off ; she 
rose slowly, and seemed to collect herself. 

Can I do anything more for you, my poor fellow ? ” 
she said, approaching where Tom lay ; “ shall I give you 
some more water ? 

There was a graceful and compassionate sweetness in her 
voice and manner, as she said this, that formed a strange 
contrast with the former wildness. 

Tom drank the water, and looked earnestly and piti- 
. fully into her face. 

0 Missis, I wish you'd go to Him that can give you 
living waters ! '' 

‘‘ Go to him ! Where is he ? Who is he ?'' said Gassy. 

Him that you read of to me, — the Lord.'' 

1 used to see the picture of Him, over the altar, when I 
was a girl,'' said Gassy, her dark eyes fixing themselves in 
an expression of mournful reverie; ^^but. He isn’t here! 
there's nothing here, but sin and long, long, long despair I 
0 I '' She laid her hand on her breast and drew in her 
breath, as if to lift a heavy weight. 


392 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Tom looked as if he would speak again ; but she cut him 
short, with a decided gesture. 

DonT talk, my poor fellow. Try to sleep, if you can.^^ 
And, placing water in his reach, and making whatever 
little arrangements for his comfort she could. Gassy left 
the shed. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE TOKENS. 

And slight, withal, may be the things that bring 
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
Aside forever ; it may be a sound, 

A flower, the wind, the ocean, which shall wound, — 

Striking the electric chain wherewith we’re darkly bound. 

CJiilde Harold's Pilgrimage, Can. 4 . 

The sitting-room of Legree^s establishment was a large, 
long room, with a wide, ample fireplace. It had once been 
hung with a showy and expensive paper, which now hung 
mouldering, torn and discolored, from the damp walls. 
The place had that peculiar sickening, unwholesome smell, 
compounded of mingled damp, dirt, and decay, which one 
often notices in close old houses. The wall-paper was 
defaced, in spots, by slops of beer and wine ; or garnished 
with chalk memorandums, and long sums footed up, as 
if somebody had been practising arithmetic there. In the 
fireplace stood a brazier full of burning charcoal ; for, 
though the weather was not cold, the evenings always 
seemed damp and chilly in that great room ; and Legree, 
moreover, wanted a place to light his cigars, and heat his 
water for punch. The ruddy glare of the charcoal dis- 
played the confused and unpromising aspect of the room, 
— saddles, bridles, several sorts of harness, riding-whips, 
overcoats, and various articles of clothing, scattered up 
and down the room in confused variety ; and the dogs, of 
whom we have before spoken, had encamped themselves 
among them, to suit their own taste and convenience. 

Legree was just mixing himself a tumbler of punch, 
pouring his hot water from a cracked and broken-nosed 
pitcher, grumbling, as he did so. 

Plague on that Sambo, to kick up this yer row between 


LIFJ^ AMONG TUE LOWLY, 393 

me and the new hands ! The fellow wonT be fit to work 
for a week, now, — right in the press of the season ! ” 

Yes, just like you,” said a voice, behind his chair. It 
was the woman Gassy, who had stolen upon his soliloquy. 

Hah ! you she-devil ! you\e come back, have you ?” 

Yes, I have,” she said, coolly ; come to have my own 
way, too ! ” 

You lie, you jade ! Fll be up to my word. Either be- 
have yourself, or stay down to the quarters, and fare and 
work with the rest.” 

I^d rather, ten thousand times,^^ said the woman, 
^Hive in the dirtiest hole at the quarters, than be under 
your hoof ! ” 

But you are under my hoof, for all that,” said he, 
turning upon her, with a savage grin ; that^s one com- 
fort. So, sit down here on my knee, my dear, and hear to 
reason,” said he, laying hold on her wrist. 

Simon Legree, take care ! ” said the woman, with a 
sharp flash of her eye, a glance so wild and insane in its 
light as to be almost appalling. You Ye afraid of me, 
Simon,” she said, deliberately ; and youVe reason to be ! 
But be careful, for IVe got the devil in me ! ” 

The last words she whispered in a hissing tone, close to 
his ear. 

Get out! I believe, to my soul, you have !” said 
Legree, pushing her from him, and looking uncomfortably 
at her. After all. Gassy,” he said, why canY you be 
friends with me, as you used to ? ” 

Used to I ” said she, bitterly. She stopped short, — a 
world of choking feelings rising in her heart, kept her 
silent. 

Gassy had always kept over Legree the kind of influence 
that a strong, impassioned woman can ever keep over the 
most brutal man ; but, of late, she had grown more and 
more irritable and restless, under the hideous yoke of her 
servitude, and her irritability, at times, broke out into rav- 
ing insanity ; and this liability made her a sort of object of 
dread to Legree, who had that superstitious horror of insane 
persons which is common to coarse and uninstructed minds. 
When Legree brought Emmeline to the house, all the 
smouldering embers of womanly feeling flashed up in the 
worn heart of Gassy, and she took part with the girl ; and 
a fierce quarrel ensued between her and Legree. Legree, 


394 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


in a fnry, swore she should be put to field service, if she 
would not be peaceable. Gassy, with proud scorn, de- 
clared she would go to the field. And she worked there 
one day, as we have described, to show how perfectly she 
scorned the threat. 

Legree was secretly uneasy, all day ; for Gassy had an 
influence over him from which he could not free himself. 
When she presented her basket at the scales, he had hoped 
for some concession, and addressed her in a sort of half 
conciliatory, half scornful tone ; and she had answered 
with the bitterest contempt. 

The outrageous treatment of poor Tom had roused her 
still more ; and she had followed Legree to the house, with 
no particular intention, but to upbraid him for his brutality. 

I wish. Gassy, said Legree, ^^you^d behave yourself 
decently. 

Fbu talk about behaving decently ! And what have 
you been doing ? — you, who havenT even sense enough to 
keep from spoiling one of your best hands, right in the 
most pressing season, just for your devilish temper ! 

I was a fool, iGs a fact, to let any such brangle come 
up,^^ said Legree ; but, when the boy set up his will, he 
had to be broke in.^^ 

I reckon you wonT break Mm in ! 

^MVonT I said Legree, rising, passionately. Fd 
like to know if I wonT ? He^ll be the first nigger that 
ever came it round me ! I dl break every bone in his body, 
but he shall give up ! 

Just then the door opened, and Sambo entered. He 
came forward, bowing, and holding out something in a 
paper. 

What’s that, you dog ?” said Legree. 

“ It’s a witch thing, Mas’r ! ” 

A what ?” 

Something that niggers gets from witches. Keeps ’em 
from feelin’ when they’s flogged. He had it tied round 
his neck, with a black string.” 

Legree, like most godless and cruel men, was supersti- 
tious. He took the paper, and opened it uneasily. 

There dropped out of it a silver dollar, and a long, shin- 
ing curl of fair hair, — hair which, like a living thing, 
twined itself round Legree’s fingers. 

** Damnation ! ” he screamed, in sudden passion, stamp- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


895 


ing on the floor, and pulling furiously at the hair, as if it 
burned him. Where did this come from ? Take it off ! 
— burn it up ! — burn it up ! he screamed, tearing it off, 
and throwing it into the charcoal. What did you bring 
it to me for ? 

Sambo stood, with his heavy mouth wide open, and 
aghast with wonder ; and Cassy, who was preparing to 
leave the apartment, stopped, and looked at him in perfect 
amazement. 

y DonT you bring me any more of your devilish things ! 
said he, shaking his fist at Sambo, who retreated hastily 
towards the door ; and, picking up the silver dollar, he 
sent it smashing through the window-pane, out into the 
darkness. 

Sambo was glad to make his escape. When he was gone, 
Legree seemed a little ashamed of his fit of alarm. He 
sat doggedly down in his chair, and began sullenly sipping 
his tumbler of punch. 

Gassy prepared herself for going out, unobserved by 
him ; and slipped away to minister to poor Tom, as we 
have already related. 

And what was the matter with Legree ? and what was 
there in a simple curl of fair hair to appal that brutal 
man, familiar with every form of cruelty ? To answer 
this, we must carry the reader backward in his history. 
Hard and reprobate as the godless man seemed now, there 
had been a time when he had been rocked on the bosom of a 
mother, — cradled with prayers and pious hymns, — his now 
seared brow bedewed with the waters of holy baptism. In 
early childhood, a fair-haired woman had led him, at the 
sound of Sabbath bell, to worship and to pray. Far in 
New England that mother had trained her only son, with 
long, unwearied love, and patient prayers. Born of a hard- 
tempered sire, on whom that gentle woman had wasted a 
world of unvalued love, Legree had followed in the steps 
of his father. Boisterous, unruly, and tyrannical, he de- 
spised all her counsel, and would none of her reproof ; 
and, at an early age, broke from her, to seek his fortunes 
at sea. He never came home but once, after ; and then, 
his mother, with the yearning of a heart that must love 
something, and has nothing else to love, clung to him, 
and sought, with passionate prayers and entreaties, to win 
him from a life of sin, to his souFs eternal good. 


396 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


That was Legree^s day of grace ; then good angels called 
him ; then he was almost persuaded, and mercy held him 
by the hand. His heart inly relented, — there was a con- 
flict^ — hut sin got the victory, and he set all the force of 
his rough nature against the conviction of his conscience. 
He drank and swore, — was wilder and more brutal than 
ever. And, one night, when his mother, in the last agony 
of her despair, knelt at his feet, he spurned her from him, 
— threw her senseless on the floor, and, with brutal curses, 
fled to his ship. The next Legree heard of his mother was, 
when, one night, as he was carousing among drunken com- 
panions, a letter was put into his hand. He opened it> 
and a lock of long, curling hair fell from it, and twined 
about his Angers. The letter told him his mother was 
dead, and thatj dying, she blest and forgave him. 

There is a dread, unhallowed necromancy of evil, that 
turns things sweetest and holiest to phantoms of horror and 
affright. That pale, loving mother, — her dying prayers, 
her forgiving love, — wrought in that demoniac heart of 
sin only as a damning sentence, bringing with it a fearful 
looking for of judgment and fiery indignation. Legree 
burned the hair, and burned the letter ; and when he saw 
them hissing and crackling in the flame, inly shuddered as 
he thought of everlasting fires. He tried to drink, and 
revel, and swear away the memory ; but often, in the deep 
night, whose solemn stillness arraigns the bad soul in 
forced communion with herself, he had seen that pale 
mother rising by his bedside, and felt the soft twining of 
that hair around his fingers, till the cold sweat would roll 
down his face, and he would spring from his bed in horror. 
Ye who have wondered to hear, in the same evangel, that 
God is love, and that God is a consuming fire, see ye not 
how, to the soul resolved in evil, perfect love is the most 
fearful torture, the seal and sentence of the direst despair ? 

Blast it !” said Legree to himself, as he sipped his 
liquor ; where did he get that ? If it didnT look just 
like — whoo ! I thought Fd forgot that. Curse me, if I 
think there^s any such thing as forgetting anything, any- 
how, — hang it ! Fm lonesome ! I mean to call Em. She 
hates me — the monkey ! I don’t care, — I’ll make her 
come ! ” 

Legree stepped out into a large entry, which went up- 
stairs, by what had formerly been a superb winding 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


397 


staircase ; but the passage- way was dirty and dreary, 
encumbered with boxes and unsightly litter. The stairs, 
uncarpeted, seemed winding up, in the gloom to nobody 
knew where ! The pale moonlight streamed through a 
shattered fanlight over the door ; the air was unwholesome 
and chilly, like that of a vault. 

Legree stopped:at the foot of the stairs, and heard a voice 
singing. It seemed strange and ghostlike in that dreary 
old house, perhaps because of the already tremulous state 
of hisi nerves. Hark ! what is it ? 

A wild, pathetic voice chants a hymn common among 
the slaves : 

“ O there’ll be mourning, mourning, mourning, 

O there’ll be mourning, at the judgment-seat of Christ I ” 

Blast the girl ! said Legree. Fll choke her. — Em ! 
Em ! he called, harshly ; but only a mocking echo from 
the, walls answered him. The sweet voice still sung on : 

“ Parents and children there shall part I 
Parents and children there shall part I 
Shall part to meet no more I ” 

And clear and loud swelled through the empty halls the 
refrain, 

“ O there’ll be mourning, mourning, mourning, 

O there’ll be mourning, at the judgment-seat of Christ ! ” 

Legree stopped. He would have been ashamed to tell 
of it, . but large drops of sweat stood on his forehead, his 
heart beat heavy and thick with fear ; he even thought he 
saw something white rising and glimmering in the gloom 
before him, and shuddered to think what if the form of 
his dead mother should suddenly appear to him. 

I know one thing,” he said to himself, as he stumbled 
back in the sitting-room, and sat down: Fll let that 
fellow alone, after this ! What did I want of his cussed 
paper ? I believe I am bewitched, sure enough ! ^ Fve been 
shivering and sweating, ever since ! Where did he get 
that hair ? It couldnT have been that ! I burnt that up, 
I know I did ! It would be a joke if hair could rise from 
the dead ! ” 


898 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


Ah, Legree ! that golden tress was charmed ; each hair 
had in it a spell of terror and remorse for thee, and was 
used by a mightier power to bind thy cruel hands from in- 
flicting uttermost evil on the helpless ! 

say,” said Legree, stamping and whistling to the 
dogs, ^"wake up, some of you, and keep me company!” 
but the dogs only opened one eye at him, sleepily, and 
closed it again. 

ril have Sambo and Quimbo up here, to sing and dance 
one of their hell dances, and keep off these horrid notions,” 
said Legree ; and, putting on his hat, he went on to the ve- 
randah, and blew a horn, with which he commonly sum- 
moned his two sable drivers. 

Legree was often wont, when in a gracious humor, to 
get these two worthies into his sitting-room, and, after 
warming them up with whiskey, amuse himself by setting 
them to singing, dancing, or fighting, as the humor took 
him. 

It was between one and two o’clock at night, as Gassy 
was returning from her ministrations to poor Tom, that 
she heard the sound of wild shrieking, whooping, halloing, 
and singing, from the sitting-room, mingled with the 
barking of dogs, and other symptoms of general uproar. 

She came up on the verandah steps, and looked in. Le- 
gree and both the drivers, in a state of furious intoxication, 
were singing, whooping, upsetting chairs, and making all 
manner of ludicrous and horrid grimaces at each other. 

She rested her small, slender hand on the window-blind, 
and looked fixedly at them ; — there was a world of anguish, 
scorn, and fierce bitterness, in her black eyes, as she did so. 

Would it be a sin to rid the world of such a wretch ?” 
she said to herself. 

She turned hurriedly away, and, passing round to a back 
door, glided upstairs, and tapped at Emmeline’s door. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


399 


CHAPTER XXXVL 

EMMELIIiTE AKD GASSY. 

Gassy entered the room, and found Emmeline sitting, 
pale with fear, in the furthest corner of it. As she came 
in, the girl started up nervously ; but, on seeing who it was, 
rushed forward, and catching her arm, said, 0 Gassy, is 
it you ? I’m so glad you’ve come ! I was afraid it was — . 
0, you don’t know what a horrid noise there has been, down- 
stairs, all this evening ! ” 

I ought to know,” said Gassy, dryly. I’ve heard it 
often enough.” 

0 Gassy ! do tell me, — couldn’t we get away from this 
place ? I don’t care where, — into the swamp among the 
snakes, — anywhere ! CouldnH we get somewhere away from 
here ?” 

Xowhere, hut into our graves,” said Gassy. 

Did you ever try ?” 

I’ve seen enough of trying, and what comes of it,” said 
Gassy. 

I’d be willing to live in the swamps, and gnaw the 
hark from trees. I an’t afraid of snakes ! I’d rather have 
one near me than him,” said Emmeline, eagerly. 

There have been a good many here of your opinion,” 
said Gassy ; but you couldn’t stay in the swamps, — you’d 
be tracked by the dogs, and brought back, and then — 
then ” 

What would he do,” said the girl, looking, with 
breathless interest, into her face. 

What wouldnH he do ? you’d better ask,” said Gassy. 
^^He’s learned his trade well, among the pirates in the 
West Indies. You wouldn’t sleep much, if I should tell 
you things I’ve seen, — things that he tells of, sometimes, 
for good jokes. I’ve heard screams here that I haven’t 
been able to get out of my head for weeks and weeks. 
There’s a place way out down by the quarters, where you 
can see a black, blasted tree, and the ground all covered 
with black ashes. Ask any one what was done there, and 


400 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


0 ! what do you mean ? 

1 won^t tell you. I hate to think of it. And I tell 
you, the Lord only knows what we may see to-morrow, if 
that poor fellow holds out as he^s begun. 

Horrid ! said Emmeline, every drop of blood reced* 
ing from her cheeks. 0 Gassy, do tell me what I shall 
do ! 

What I\e done. Do the best you can, — do what you 
must, — and make it up in hating and cursing. 

^^He wanted to make me drink some of his hateful 
brandy,^^ said Emmeline ; and I hate it so 

^^You^d better drink, said Gassy. I hated it, too; 
and now I can^t live without it. One must have some- 
thing ; — things don’t look so dreadful when you take 
that.” 

Mother used to tell me never to touch any such thing,” 
said ‘Emmeline. 

Mother told you ! ” said Gassy, with a thrilling and 
bitter emphasis on the word mother. What use is it for 
mothers to say anything ? You are all to be bought and 
paid for, and your souls belong to whoever gets you. 
That’s the way it goes. I say, brandy ; drink all 

you can, and it’ll make things come easier.” 

0 Gassy ! do pity me ! ” 

Pity you ! — don’t I ? Haven’t I a daughter, — Lord 
knows where she is, and whose she is, now, — going the 
way her mother went, before her, I suppose, and that her 
children must go, after her ! There’s no end to the curse 
—forever ! ” 

wish I’d never been born ! ” said Emmeline, wring- 
ing her hands. 

That’s an Old wish with me,” said Gassy. I’ve got 
used to wishing that. I’d die, if I dared to,” she said, 
looking out into the darkness, with that still, fixed de- 
spair which was the habitual expression of her face when 
at- rest. 

It would be wicked to kill one’s self,” said Em- 
meline. 

1 don’t know why, — no wickeder than things we live 

and do, day after day. But the sisters told me things, when 
I was in the convent, that make me afraid to die. If it 
would only be the end of us, why, then ” 

Emmeline turned away, and hid her face in her hands. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


401 


While this conversation was passing in the chamber, 
Legree, overcome with his carouse, had sunk to sleep in 
the room below. Legree was not an habitual drunkard. 
His coarse, strong nature craved, and could endure, a con- 
tinual stimulation, that would have utterly wrecked and 
crazed a finer one. But a deep, underlying spirit of cau- 
tiousness prevented his often yielding to appetite in such 
measure as to lose control of himself. 

This night, however, in his feverish efforts to banish 
from his mind those fearful elements of woe and remorse 
which woke within him, he had indulged more than com- 
mon ; so that, when he had discharged his sable attend- 
ants, he fell heavily on a settle in the room, and was sound 
asleep. 

0 ! how dares the bad soul to enter the shadowy world 
of sleep ? — that land whose dim outlines lie so fearfully 
near to the mystic scene of retribution ! Legree dreamed. 
In his heavy and feverish sleep, a veiled form stood beside 
him, and laid a cold, soft hand upon him. He thought 
he knew who it was ; and shuddered, with creeping horror, 
though the face was veiled. Then he thought he felt 
that hair twining round his fingers ; and then, that it 
slid smoothly round his neck, and tightened and tight- 
ened, and he could not draw his breath ; and then he 
thought voices whispered to him, — whispers that chilled 
him with horror. Then it seemed to him he was on the 
edge of a frightful abyss, holding on and struggling in 
mortal fear, while dark hands stretched up, and were 
pulling him over ; and Gassy came behind him laughing, 
and pushed him. And then rose up that solemn veiled 
figure, and drew aside the veil. It was his mother ; and 
she turned away from him, and he fell down, down, down, 
amid a confused noise of shrieks, and groans, and shouts 
of demon laughter, — and Legree awoke. 

Calmly the rosy hue of dawn was stealing into the room. 
The morning star stood, with its solemn, holy eye of light, 
looking down on the man of sin, from out the brightening 
sky. 0, with what freshness, what solemnity and beauty, is 
each new day born ; as if to say to insensate man, Behold ! 
thou hast one more chance ! Strive for immortal glory ! 
There is no speech nor language where this voice is not 
heard ; but the bold, bad man heard it not. He woke with 
an oath and a curse. What to him was the gold and pur- 
26 


402 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


pie, the daily miracle of morning ! What to him the sanc- 
tity of that star which the Son of God has hallowed as his 
own emblem ? Brnte-like, he saw without perceiving ; 
and, stumbling forward, poured out a tumbler of brandy, 
and drank half of it. 

Fve had a h — 1 of a night ! he said to Gassy, who just 
then entered from an opposite door. 

Youll get plenty of the same sort, by and by,^’ said 
she, dryly. 

What do you mean, you minx ? ” 

You^ll find out, one of these days,” returned Gassy, in 
the same tone. ^^Now, Simon, Fve one piece of advice to 
give you.” 

The devil, you have ! ” 

My advice is,” said Gassy, steadily, as she began ad- 
justing some things about the room, that you let Tom 
alone.” 

What business isT of yours ? ” 

What ? To be sure, I donT know what it should be. 
If you want to pay twelve hundred for a fellow, and use 
him right up in the press of the season, just to serve your 
own spite, it’s no business of mine. Fve done what I could 
for him.” 

You' have ? What business have you meddling in my 
matters ? ” 

None, to be sure. Fve saved you some thousands of 
dollars, at different times, by taking care of your hands, 
— thaFs all the thanks I get. If your crop comes shorter 
into market than any of theirs, you wonT lose your bet, I 
suppose ? Tompkins wonT lord it over you, I suppose, — 
and youTl pay down your money like a lady, wonT you ? 
I think I see you doing it ! ” 

Legree, like many other planters, had but one form of 
ambition, — to have in the heaviest crop of the season, — 
and he had several bets on this very present season pend- 
ing in the next town. Gassy, therefore, with woman^s tact, 
touched the only string that could be made to vibrate. 

Well, ITl let him off at what lien’s got,” said Legree ; 

but he shall beg my pardon, and promise better fash- 
ions.” 

** That he wonT do,” said Gassy. 

^MYon%--eh?” 

No, he wonT,” said Gassy. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


403 


rd like to know why, Mistress/^ said Legree, in the 
extreme of scorn. 

Because he^s done right, and he knows it, and won^t 
say he^s done wrong." 

Who a cuss cares what he knows ? The nigger shall 
say what I please, or " 

Or, you^ll lose your bet on the cotton crop, by keeping 
him out of the field, just at this very press." 

But he will give up, — course, he will ; donT I know 
what niggers is ? Hefil beg like a dog, this morning." 

He wonT, Simon ; you donT know this kind. You 
may kill him by inches, — you wonT get the first word of 
confession out of him." 

Wefil see ; — where is he ?" said Legree, going out^ 

In the waste-room of the gin-house," said Gassy. 

Legree, though he talked so stoutly to Gassy, still sallied 
forth from the house with a degree of misgiving which was 
not common with him. His dreams of the past night, 
mingled with Gassy^s prudential suggestions, considerably 
affected his mind. He resolved that nobody should he 
witness of his encounter with Tom ; and determined, if he 
could not subdue him by bullying, to defer his vengeance, 
to he wreaked in a more convenient season. 

The solemn light of dawn — the angelic glory of the 
morning star — had looked in through the rude window of 
the shed where Tom was lying ; and, as if descending on 
that star-beam, came the solemn words, I am the root 
and offspring of David, and the bright and morning star." 
The mysterious warnings and intimations of Gassy, so far 
from discouraging his soul, in the end had roused it as with 
a heavenly call. He did not know but that the day of his 
death was dawning in the sky ; and his heart throbbed with 
solemn throes of joy and desire, as he thought that the 
wondrous all, of which he had often pondered, — the great 
white throne, with its ever radiant rainbow ; the white- 
robed multitude, with voices as many waters ; the crowns, 
the palms, the harps, — might all break upon his vision be- 
fore that sun should set again. And, therefore, without 
shuddering or trembling, he heard the voice of his perse- 
cutor, as he drew near. 

Well, my boy," said Legree, with a contemptuous 
kick, how do you find yourself ? Didn’t I tell yer I 
could larn yer a thing or two ? How do yer like it, — eh ? 


m 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


How did yer whaling agree with yer, Tom ? AnT quite 
so crank as ye was last night. Ye couldnT treat a poor 
sinner, now, to a bit of a sermon, could ye, — eh ? 

Tom answered nothing. 

Get up, you beast ! said Legree, kicking him again. 

This was a difficult matter for one so bruised and faint ; 
and, as Tom made efforts to do so, Legree laughed brutally. 

What makes ye so spry, this morning, Tom ? Cotched 
cold, may be, last night. 

Tom by this time had gained his feet, and was confront- 
ing his master with a steady, unmoved front. 

^^The devil, you can said Legree, looking him over. 

I believe you havenT got enough yet. How, Tom, get 
right down on yer knees and beg my pardon, for yer shines 
last night. 

Tom did not move. 

Down, you dog ! said Legree, striking him with his 
riding-whip. 

MasT Legree,^^ said Tom, I canT do it. I did only 
what I thought was right. I shall do just so again, if 
ever the time comes. I never will do a cruel thing, come 
what may.^^ 

‘‘Yes, but ye donT know what may come, Master Tom. 
Ye think what youVe got is something. I tell you TanT 
anything, — nothing Tall. How would ye like to be tied to 
a tree, and have a slow fire lit up around ye ; — wouldnT 
that be pleasant, — eh, Tom ? ” 

“ MasT,” said Tom, “ I know ye can do dreadful things ; 
but,^^ — he stretched himself upward and clasped his hands, 
— “ but, after yeVe killed the body, there anT no more 
ye can do. And 0, thereT all eterkitt to come, after 
that ! 

Eteri^ity, — the word thrilled through the black manT 
soul with light and power, as he spoke ; it thrilled 
through the sinnerT soul, too, like the bite of a scorpion. 
Legree gnashed on him with his teeth, but rage kept him 
silent ; and Tom, like a man disenthralled, spoke, in a 
clear and cheerful voice, 

“ MasT Legree, as ye bought me, Fll be a true and faith- 
ful servant to ye. ITl give ye all the work of my hands, 
all my time, all my strength ; but my soul I wonT give up 
to mortal man. I will hold on to the Lord, and put his 
commands before all, — die or live ; you may be sure onT. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


405 


Mas^r Legree, I an^t a grain afeard to die. I’d as soon die 
as not. Ye may whip me, starve me, burn me, — it’ll only 
send me sooner where I want to go.” 

I’ll make ye give out, though, ’fore I’ve done ! ” said 
Legree, in a rage. 

I shall have help,^* said Tom ; you’ll never do it.” 

Who the devil’s going to help you ? ” said Legree, 
scornfully. 

The Lord Almighty,” said Tom. 

D — n you ! ” said Legree, as with one blow of his fist 
he felled Tom to the earth. 

A cold, soft hand fell’s on Legree’s, at this moment. He 
turned, — it was Gassy ; but the cold, soft touch recalled his 
dream of the night before, and, flashing through the 
chambers of his brain, came all the fearful images of the 
night-watches, with a portion of the horror that accom- 
panied them. 

Will you be a fool?” said Gassy, in French. ^^Let 
him go ! Let me alone to get him fit to be in the field 
again. Isn’t it just as I told you ?” 

They say the alligator, the rhinoceros, though enclosed 
in bullet-proof mail, have each a spot where they are vul- 
nerable ; and fierce, reckless, unbelieving reprobates have 
commonly this point in superstitious dread. 

Legree turned away, determined to let the point go for 
the time. 

Well, have it your own way,” he said, doggedly, to Gassy. 

Hark, ye ! ” he said to Tom ; I won’t deal with ye 
now, because the business is pressing, and I want all my 
hands ; but I never forget. I’ll score it against ye, and 
some time I’ll have my pay out o’ yer old black hide, — 
mind ye ! ” 

Legree turned, and went out. 

” bid Gassy, looking darkly after him ; 



come, yet ! — My poor fellow, how 


are you ? ” 

The Lord God hath sent his angel, and shut the lion’s 
mouth, for this time,” said Tom. 

For this time, to be sure,” said Gassy ; but now 
you’ve got his ill-will upon you, to follow you day in, day 
out, hanging like a dog on your throat, — sucking your 
blood, bleeding away your life, drop by drop. I know the 
man.” 


406 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN ; OB, 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 

LIBERTY. 

“ No matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted 
upon the altar of slavery, the moment he touches the sacred soil 
of Britain, the altar and the God sink together in the dust, and he 
stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresist- 
ible genius of universal emancipation. ” — Curran. 

A WHILE we must leave Tom in the hands of his perse- 
cutors, while we turn to pursue the fortunes of George and 
his wife, whom we left in friendly hands, in a farm-house 
on the roadside. 

Tom Loker we left groaning and touzling in a most im- 
maculately clean Quaker bed, under the motherly super- 
vision of Aunt Dorcas, who found him to the full as tract- 
able a patient as a sick bison. 

Imagine a tall, dignified, spiritual woman, whose clean 
muslin cap shades waves of silvery hair, parted on a broad, 
clear forehead, which overarches thoughtful gray eyes. 
A snowy handkerchief of lisse crape is folded neatly across 
her bosom ; her glossy brown silk dress rustles peacefully, 
as she glides up and down the chamber. 

The devil ! says Tom Loker, giving a great throw to 
the bedclothes. 

^‘1 must request thee, Thomas, not to use such lan- 
guage,^' says Aunt Dorcas, as she quietly re-arranged the 
bed. 

^^Well, I won't, granny, if I can help it," says Tom; 

but it is enough to make a fellow swear, — so cursedly 
hot!" 

Dorcas removed a comforter from the bed, straightened 
the clothes again, and tucked them in till Tom looked 
something like a chrysalis ; remarking as she did so, 

I wish, friend, thee would leave oif cursing and swear- 
ing, and think upon thy ways." 

What the devil," said Tom, ‘‘ should I think of them 
for ? Last thing ever I want to think of — hang it all 1 " 
And Tom flounced over, untucking and disarranging every- 
thing, in a manner frightful to behold. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 407 

That fellow and gal are here, I s'^pose,^^ said he, sul- 
lenly, after a pause. 

They are so,” said Dorcas. 

They’d better be off up to the lake,” said Tom ; the 
quicker the better.” 

Probably they will do so,” said Aunt Dorcas, knitting 
peacefully. 

And hark ye,” said Tom ; we’ve got correspondents 
in Sandusky, that watch the boats for us. I don’t care if 
I tell, now. I hope they will ^et away, just to spite Marks, 
— the cursed puppy ! — d — n him ! ” 

Thomas ! ” said Dorcas. 

I tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight, 
I shall split,” said Tom. But about the gal, — tell ’em 
to dress her up some way, so’s to alter her. Her descrip- 
tion’s out in Sandusky.” 

^^We will attend to that matter,” said Dorcas, with 
characteristic composure. 

As we at this place take leave of Tom Loker, we may as 
well say, that, having lain three weeks at the Quaker dwell- 
ing, sick with rheumatic fever, which set in, in company 
with his other afflictions, Tom arose from his bed a some- 
what sadder and wiser man ; and, in place of slave-catch- 
ing, betook himself to life in one of the new settlements, 
where his talents developed themselves more happily in 
trapping bears, wolves, and other inhabitants of the forest, 
in which he made himself quite a name in the land. Tom 
always spoke reverently of the Quakers. Nice people,” 
he would say ; wanted to convert me, but couldn’t come 
it, exactly. But, tell ye what, stranger, they do fix up a 
sick fellow first-rate, — no mistake. Make jist the tallest 
kind o’ broth and knicknacks.” 

As Tom had informed them that their party would he 
looked for in Sandusky, it was thought prudent to divide 
them. Jim, with his old mother, was forwarded sepa- 
rately ; and a night or two after, George and Eliza, with 
their child, were driven privately into Sandusky, and 
lodged beneath a hospitable roof, preparatory to taking 
their last passage on the lake. 

Their night was now far spent, and the morning star of 
liberty rose fair before them. Liberty ! — electric word ! 
What is it ? Is there anything more in it than a name — a 
rhetorical flourish ? Why, men and women of America, 


408 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


does your hearths blood thrill at that word, for which your 
fathers bled, and your braver mothers were willing that 
their noblest and best should die ? 

Is there anything in it glorious and dear for a nation, 
that is not also glorious and dear for a man ? What is 
freedom to a nation, but freedom to the individuals in it ? 
What is freedom to tl ' ' 



African 


his arms folded over 


blood in his cheek, its dark fires in his eye, — what is free- 
dom to George Harris ? To your fathers, freedom was the 
right of a nation to be a nation. To him, it is the right 
of a man to be a man, and not a brute ; the right to call 
the wife of his bosom his wife, and to protect her from 
lawless, violence ; the right to protect and educate his child ; 
the right to have a home of his own, a religion of his own, 
a character of his own, unsubject to the will of another. 
All these thoughts were rolling and seething in George^s 
breast, as he was pensively leaning his head on his hand, 
watching his wife, as she was adapting to her slender and 
pretty form the articles of man’s attire, in which it was 
deemed safest she should make her escape. 

^N’ow for it,” said she, as she stood before the glass, and 
shook down her silky abundance of black, curly hair. I 
say, George, it’s almost a pity, isn’t it,” she said, as she held 
up some of it, playfully, — “pity it’s all got to come off ?” 

George smiled sadly, and made no answer. 

Eliza turned to the glass, and the scissors glittered as 
one long lock after another was detached from her head. 

There, now, that’ll do,” she said, taking up a hair- 
brush ; ^^now for a few fancy touches.” 

There, an’t I a pretty young fellow ?” she said, turn- 
ing around to her husband, laughing and blushing at the 
same time. 

“You always will be pretty, do what you will,” said 
George. 

What does make you so sober ? ” said Eliza, kneeling 
on one knee, and laying her hand on his. We are only 
within twenty-four hours of Canada, they say. Only a 
day and a night on the lake, and then — oh, then ! ’’ 

0 Eliza ! ” said George, drawing her towards him ; 

that is it ! Now my fate is all narrowing down to a 
point. To come so near, to be almost in sight, and then 
lose all. I should never live under it, Eliza.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


409 


^^Don^t fear,” said his wife, hopefully. ^^The good 
Lord would not have brought us so far, it he didn't mean 
to carry us through. I seem to feel him with us, George.” 

You are a blessed woman, Eliza !” said George, clasp- 
ing her with a convulsive grasp. But, — oh, tell me ! 
can this great mercy be for us ? Will these years and 
years of misery come to an end ? — shall we be free ?” 

I am sure of it, George,” said Eliza, looking upward, 
while tears of hope and enthusiasm shone on her long, 
dark lashes. I feel it in me, that God is going to bring 
us out of bondage, this very day.” 

I will believe you, Eliza,” said George, rising sud- 
denly up. ‘‘1 will believe, — come, let's be off. Well, 
indeed,” said he, holding her off at arm's length, and look- 
ing admiringly at her, you are a pretty little fellow. 
That crop of little, short curls, is quite becoming. Put 
on your cap. So — a little to one side. I never saw you 
look quite so pretty. But, it's almost time for the car- 
riage ; — I wonder if Mrs. Smyth has got Harry rigged ? ” 

The door opened, and a respectable, middle-aged woman 
entered, leading little Harry, dressed in girl's clothes. 

What a pretty girl he makes,” said Eliza, turning him 
round. We call him Harriet, you see ; — don't the name 
come nicely ? ” 

The child stood gravely regarding his mother in her 
new and strange attire, observing a profound silence, and 
occasionally drawing deep sighs, and peeping at her from 
under his dark curls. 

^^Hoes Harry know mamma?” said Eliza, stretching 
her hands toward him. 

The child clung shyly to the woman. 

Come, Eliza, why do you try to coax him, when you 
know that he has got to be kept away from you ? ” 

I know it's foolish,” said Eliza ; yet I can't bear to 
have him turn away from me. But come, — where's my 
cloak ? Here, — how is it men put on cloaks, George ? ” 

You must wear it so,” said her husband, throwing it 
over his shoulders. 

So, then,” said Eliza, imitating the motion, — and I 
must stamp, and take long steps, and try to look saucy.” 

Don't exert yourself,” said George. There is, now 
and then, a modest young man ; and I think it would be 
easier for you to act that character.” 


410 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


And these gloves ! mercy upon us ! " said Eliza ; 
‘^why, my hands are lost in them/^ 

I advise you to keep them on pretty strictly/^ said 
George. Your little slender paw might bring us all out. 
Now, Mrs. Smyth, you are to go under our charge, and be 
our aunty, — you mind.^^ 

IVe heard, said Mrs. Smyth, “ that there have been 
men down, warning all the packet captains against a man 
and woman, with a little boy.” 

They have ! ” said George. Well, if we see any such 
people, we can tell them.” 

A hack now drove to the door, and the friendly family 
who had received the fugitives crowded around them with 
farewell greetings. 

The disguises the party had assumed were in accordance 
with the hints of Tom Loker. Mrs. Smyth, a respectable 
woman from the settlement in Canada, whither they were 
fleeing, being fortunately about crossing the lake to return 
thither, had consented to appear as the aunt of little 
Harry ; and, in order to attach him to her, he had been 
allowed to remain the two last days, under her sole charge ; 
and an extra amount of petting, joined to an indefinite 
amount of seed-cakes and candy, had cemented a very 
close attachment on the part of the young gentleman. 

The hack drove to the wharf. The two young men, as 
they appeared, walked up the plank into the boat, Eliza 
gallantly giving her arm to Mrs. Smyth, and George at- 
tending to their baggage. 

George was standing at the captain^s office, settling for 
his party, when he overheard two men talking by his side. 

IVe watched every one that came on board,” said one, 

and I know they’re not on this boat.” 

The voice was that of the clerk of the boat. The 
speaker whom he addressed was our sometime friend 
Marks, who, with that valuable perseverance which char- 
acterized him had come on to Sandusky, seeking whom 
he might devour. 

^^You would scarcely know the woman from a white 
woman,” said Marks. The man is a very light mulatto ; 
he has a brand in one of his hands.” 

The hand with which George was taking the tickets 
and change trembled a little ; but he turned coolly around, 
fixed an unconcerned glance on the face of the speaker, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 411 

and walked leisurely toward another part of the boat, 
where Eliza stood waiting for him. 

Mrs. Smyth, with little Harry, sought the seclusion 
of the ladies' cabin, where the dark beauty of the sup- 
posed little girl drew many flattering comments from the 
passengers. 

George had the satisfaction, as the bell rang out its 
farewell peal, to see Marks walk down the plank to the 
shore ; and drew a long sigh of relief, when the boat had 
put a returnless distance between them. 

It was a superb day. The blue waves of Lake Erie 
danced, rippling and sparkling, in the sunlight. A fresh 
breeze blew from the shore, and the lordly boat ploughed 
her way right gallantly onward. 

0, what an untold world there is in one human heart ! 
Who thought, as George walked calmly up and down the 
deck of the steamer, with his shy companion at his 
side, of all that was burning in his bosom ? The mighty 
good that seemed approaching seemed too good, too fair, 
even to be a reality ; and he felt a jealous dread, every 
moment of the day, that something would rise to snatch 
it from him. 

But the boat swept on. Hours fleeted, and, at last clear 
and full rose the blessed English shores ; shores charmed 
by a mighty spell, — with one touch to dissolve every in- 
cantation of slavery, no matter in what language pro- 
nounced, or by what national power confirmed. 

George and his wife stood arm in arm, as the boat 
neared the small town of Amherstberg, in Canada. His 
breath grew thick and short ; a mist gathered before his 
eyes ; he silently pressed the little hand that lay trembling 
on his arm. The bell rang ; the boat stopped. Scarcely 
seeing what he did, he looked out his baggage, and 
gathered his little party. The little company were landed 
on the shore. They stood still till the boat had cleared ; 
and then, with tears and embracings, the husband and 
wife, with their wondering child in their arms, knelt down 
and lifted up their hearts to God ! 

** Twas something like the burst from death to life, 

From the grave’s cerements to the robes of heaven ; 

From sin’s dominion, and from passion’s strife, 

To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven ; 

Where all the bonds of death and hell are riven, 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


il2 


And mortal puts on immortality, 

When Mercy’s hand hath turned the golden key, 

And Mercy’s voice hath said, Rejoice, thy soul is free.'’ 

The little party were soon guided, by Mrs. Smyth, to 
the hospitable abode of a good missionary, whom Christian 
charity has placed here as a shepherd to the out-cast and 
wandering, who are constantly finding an asylum on this 
shore. 

Who can speak the blessedness of that first day of free- 
dom ? Is not the sense of liberty a higher and a finer one 
than any of the five ? To move, speak and breathe, — go 
out and come in unwatched, and free from danger ! Who 
can speak the blessings of that rest which comes down on 
the free man^s pillow, under laws which insure to him the 
rights that God has given to man ? How fair and precious 
to that mother was that sleeping child’s face, endeared 
by the memory of a thousand dangers ! How impossible 
was it to sleep, in the exuberant possession of such blessed- 
ness ! And yet, these two had not one acre of ground, — 
not a roof that they could call their own, — they had spent 
their all, to the last dollar. They had nothing more than 
the birds of the air, or the fiowers of the field, — yet they 
could not sleep for joy. ^^0, ye who take freedom from 
man, with what words shall ye answer it to God ? ” 


CHAPTEK XXXVIII. 

THE VICTORY. 

“Thanks be unto God, who giveth us the victory.” 

Have not many of us, in the weary way of life, felt, 
in some hours, how far easier it were to die than to live ? 

The martyr, when faced even by a death of bodily an- 
guish and horror, finds in the very terror of his doom a 
strong stimulant and tonic. There is a vivid excitement, 
a thrill and fervor, which may carry through any crisis of 
suffering that is the birth-hour of eternal glory and rest. 

But to live, — to wear on, day after day, of mean, bitter, 
low, harassing servitude, every nerve dampened and de- 
pressed, every power of feeling gradually smothered,— 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


41B 


this long and wasting heart-martyrdom, this slow, daily 
bleeding away of the inward life, drop by drop, hour after 
hour, — this is the true searching test of what there may 
be in man or woman. 

When Tom stood face to face with his persecutor, and 
heard his threats, and thought in his very soul that his 
hour was come, his heart swelled bravely in him, and he 
thought he could bear torture and fire, bear anything, with 
the vision of Jesus and heaven but just a step beyond; 
but, when he was gone, and the present excitement passed 
dS, came back the pain of his bruised and wearv limbs, — 
came back the sense of his utterly degraded, hopeless, for- 
lorn estate ; and the day passed wearily enough. 

Long before his wounds were healed, Legree insisted that 
he should be put to the regular field-work ; and then came 
day after day of pain and weariness, aggravated by every 
kind of injustice and indignity that the ill-will of a mean 
and malicious mind could devise. Whoever, in our cir- 
cumstances, has made trial of pain, even with all the alle- 
viations which, for us, usually attend it, must know the 
irritation that comes with it. Tom no longer wondered 
at the habitual surliness of his associates ; nay, he found 
the placid, sunny temper, which had been the habitude of 
his life, broken in on, and sorely strained, by the inroads 
of the same thing. He had fiattered himself on leisure to 
read his Bible ; but there was no such thing as leisure 
there. In the height of the season, Legree did not hesi- 
tate to press all his hands through, Sundays and week- 
days alike. Why shouldnT he ? — he made more cotton by 
it, and gained his wager ; and if it wore out a few more 
hands, he could buy better ones. At first, Tom used to 
read a verse or two ‘of his Bible, by the fiicker of the fire, 
after he had returned from his daily toil ; but, after the 
cruel treatment he received, he used to come home so ex- 
hausted, that his head swam and his eyes failed when he 
tried to read ; and he was fain to stretch himself down, 
with the others, in utter exhaustion. 

Is it strange that the religious peace and trust, which 
had upborne him hitherto, should give way to tossings of 
soul and despondent darkness ? The gloomiest problem of 
this mysterious life was constantly before his eyes, — souls 
crushed and ruined, evil triumphant, and God silent. It 
was weeks and months that Tom wrestled, in his own soul. 


414 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


in darkness and sorrow. He thought of Miss Ophelia^s 
letter to his Kentucky friends, and would pray earnestly 
that Grod would send him deliverance. And then he would 
watch, day after day, in the vague hope of seeing some^ 
body sent to redeem him ; and, when nobody came, he 
would crush back to his soul bitter thoughts, — that it was 
vain to serve God, that God had forgotten him. He some- 
times saw Gassy ; and sometimes, when summoned to the 
house, caught a glimpse of the dejected form of Emmeline, 
but held very little communion with either ; in fact there 
was no time for him to commune with anybody. 

One evening, he was sitting, in utter dejection and pros- 
tration, by a few decaying brands, where his coarse supper 
was baking. He put a few bits of brushwood on the fire, 
and strove to raise the light, and then drew his worn Bible 
from his pocket. There were all the marked passages, 
which had thrilled his soul so often, — words of patriarchs 
and seers, poets and sages, who from early time had spoken 
courage to man, — voices from the great cloud of witnesses 
who ever surround us in the race of life. Had the word 
lost its power, or could the failing eye and weary sense no 
longer answer to the touch of that mighty inspiration ? 
Heavily sighing, he put it in his pocket. A coarse laugh 
roused him ; he looked up, — Legree was standing opposite 
to him. 

Well, old boy,^^ he said, you find your religion donT 
work, it seems ! I thought I should get that through your 
wool, at last ! 

The cruel taunt was more than hunger and cold and 
nakedness. Tom was silent. 

You were a fool,'’^ said Legree; ‘^‘^for I meant to do 
well by you, when I bought you. You might have been 
better olf than Sambo, or Quimbo either, and had easy 
times ; and, instead of getting cut up and thrashed, every 
day or two, ye might have had liberty to lord it round, and 
cut up the other niggers ; and ye might have had, now 
and then, a good warming of whiskey punch. Come, Tom, 
donT you think youM better be reasonable ! — heave that 
ar old pack of trash in the fire, and join my church ! ” 

“ The Lord forbid ! said Tom, fervently. 

You see the Lord anT going to help you ; if He had 
been, he wouldnT have let me get you ! This yer religion 
is all a mess of lying trumpery, Tom. I know all about 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


415 


it. Ye’d better hold to me ; I’m somebody, and can do 
something ! ” 

No, Mas’r,” said Tom; '^ril hold on. The Lord 
may help me, or not help ; but I’ll hold to Him, and be- 
lieve Him to the last ! ” 

The more fool you ! ” said Legree, spitting scornfully 
at him, and spurning him with his foot. Never mind ; 
I’ll chase you down, yet, and bring you under, — you’ll 
see ! ” and Legree turned away. 

When a heavy weight presses the soul to the lowest level 
at which endurance is possible, there is an instant and 
desperate effort of every physical and moral nerve to throw 
off the weight ; and hence the heaviest anguish often 
precedes a return tide of joy and courage. So was it now 
with Tom. The atheistic taunts of his cruel master sunk 
his before dejected soul to the lowest ebb ; and, though 
the hand of faith still held to the eternal rock, it was with 
a numb, despairing grasp. Tom sat, like one stunned, at 
the fire. Suddenly everything round him seemed to fade, 
and a vision rose before him of One crowned with thorns, 
buffeted and bleeding. Tom gazed, in awe and wonder, 
at the majestic patience of the face ; the deep, pathetic 
eyes thrilled him to his inmost heart ; his soul woke, as, 
with floods of emotion, he stretched out his hands and fell 
upon his knees, — when, gradually, the vision changed ; the 
sharp thorns became rays of glory ; and, in splendor incon- 
ceivable, he saw that same face bending compassionately 
towards him, and a voice said, He that over com eth shall 
oit down with me on my throne, even as I also overcame, 
and am set down with my father on his throne.” 

How long Tom lay there, he knew not. When he came 
to himself, the fire was gone out, his clothes were wet with 
the chill and drenching dews ; but the dread soul-crisis 
was past, and, in the joy that filled him, he no longer felt 
hunger, cold, degradation, disappointment, wretchedness. 
From his deepest soul, he that hour loosed and parted 
from every hope in the life that now is, and offered his 
own will an unquestioning sacrifice to the Infinite. Tom 
looked up to the silent, ever-living stars, — types of the 
angelic hosts who ever look down on man ; and the soli- 
tude of the night rung with the triumphant words of a 
hymn, which he had sung often in happier days, but never 
with such feeling as now : 


416 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


“ The earth shall be dissolved like snow. 

The siin shall cease to shine ; 

But God, who called me here below, 

Shall forever mine. 

“ And when this mortal life shall fail, 

And flesh and sense shall cease, 

I shall possess within the veil 
A life of joy and peace. 

“ When we’ve been there ten thousand years. 
Bright shining like the sun, 

We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise 
Than when we first begun.” 


Those who have been familiar with the religious histories 
of the slave population know that relations like what we 
have narrated are very common among them. We have 
heard some from the’ 



affecting character. 


in which the affections and images of the mind become so 
dominant and overpowering, that they press into their 
service the outward senses, and make them give tangible 
shape to the inward imagining. Who shall measure what 
an all-pervading Spirit may do with these capabilities of 
our mortality, or the ways in which He may encourage the 
desponding souls of the desolate ? If the poor forgotten 
slave believes that Jesus hath appeared and spoken to 
him, who shall contradict him ? Did He not say that 
his mission, in all ages, was to bind up the broken- 
hearted, and set at liberty them that are bruised ? 

1 n woke the slumberers to go 



among those tattered and 


shivering wretches one who walked with an exultant tread ; 
for firmer than the ground he trod on was his strong faith 
in Almighty, eternal love. Ah, Degree, try all your forces 
now ! Utmost agony, woe, degradation, want, and loss of 
all things, shall only hasten on the process by which he 
shall be made a king and a priest unto God ! 

From this time, an inviolable sphere of peace encom- 
passed the lowly heart of the oppressed one, — an ever- 
present Saviour hallowed it as a temple. Past now the 
bleeding of earthly regrets ; past its fluctuations of hope, 
and fear, and desire ; the human will, bent, and bleeding, 
and struggling long, was now entirely merged in the 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


417 


Divine. So short now seemed the remaining voyage of 
life, — so near, so vivid, seemed eternal blessedness, — that 
lifer’s uttermost woes fell from him unharming. 

All noticed the change in his appearance. Cheerfulness 
and alertness seemed to return to him, and a quietness 
which no insult or injury could ruffle seemed to possess him. 

What the devihs got into Tom ? Degree said to 
Sambo. A while ago he was all down in the mouth, and 
now he's peart as a cricket. 

Dunno, MasT ; gwine to run off, mebbe.'’^ 

Like to see him try that,^^ said Degree, with a savage 
grin, wouldnT we. Sambo ? " 

Guess we would ! Haw ! haw ! ho said the sooty 
gnome, laughing obsequiously. Lord, de fun ! To see 
him stickin^ in de mud, — chasin^ and tearin^ through de 
bushes, dogs a-holdin’ on to him ! Lord, I laughed fit to 
split, dat ar time we cotched Molly. I thought they^’d a 
had her all stripped up afore I could get ^em off. She 
car^s de marks o^ dat ar spree yet.^^ 

I reckon she will, to her grave,” said Degree. But 
now. Sambo, you look sharp. If the nigger^s got anything 
of this sort going, trip him up.” 

Mas^r, let me fione for dat,” said Sambo. Fll tree 
de coon. Ho, ho, ho ! ” 

This was spoken as Degree was getting on to his horse, 
to go to the neighboring town. That night, as he was 
returning, he thought he would turn his horse and ride 
round the quarters, and see if all was safe. 

It was a superb moonlight night, and the shadows of the 
graceful China trees lay minutely pencilled on the turf 
below, and there was that transparent stillness in the air 
which it seems almost unholy to disturb. Degree was at a 
little distance from the quarters, when he heard the voice 
of some one singing. It was not a usual sound there, and 
he paused to listen. A musical tenor voice sang, 

“ When I can read my title clear 
To mansions in the skies, 

I’ll bid farewell to every fear 
And wipe my weeping eyes. 

“ Should earth against my soul engage. 

And hellish darts be hurled, 

Then I can smile at Satan’s rage, 

And face a frowning world. 


27 


418 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


“ Let cares like a wild deluge come, 
And storms of sorrow fall, 

May I but safely reach my home, 
My God, my Heaven, my All.” 


So ho ! ” said Legree to himself, he thinks so, doe£ 
he ? How I hate these cursed Methodist hymns ! Here, 
you nigger, said he, coming suddenly out upon Tom, and 
raising his riding- whip, ^^how dare you be gettin^ up this 
yer row, when you ought to be in bed ? Shut yer old black 
gash, and get along in with you ! 

Yes, MasT,^"* said Tom, with ready cheerfulness, as he 
rose to go in. 

Legree was provoked beyond measure by Tom’s evident 
happiness ; and, riding up to him, belabored him over his 
head and shoulders. 

There, you dog,” he said, see if you’ll feel so com- 
fortable, after that ! ” ' 

But the blows fell now only on the outer man, and not, 
as before, on the heart. Tom stood perfectly submissive ; 
and yet Legree could not hide from himself that his power 
over his bond thrall was somehow gone. And, as Tom 
disappeared in his cabin, and he wheeled his horse sud- 
denly round, there passed through his mind |bne of those 
vivid flashes that often send the lightning of conscience 
across the dark and wicked soul. He understood full well 
that it was God who was standing between him and his 
victim, and he blasphemed him. That submissive and 
silent man, whom taunts, nor threats, nor stripes, nor 
cruelties, could disturb, roused a voice within him, such 
as of old his Master roused in the demoniac soul, saying, 
What have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth ? 
— art thou come to torment us before the time ? ” 

Tom’s whole soul overflowed with compassion and sym- 
pathy for the poor wretches by whom he was surrounded 
To him it seemed as if his life-sorrows were now over, and 
as if, out of that strange treasury of peace and joy, with 
which he had been endowed from above, he longed to pour 
out something for the relief of their woes. It is true, op- 
portunites were scanty, but, on the way to the flelds, and 
back again, and during the hours of labor, chances fell in 
his way of extending a helping-hand to the weary, the dis- 
heartened and discouraged. The poor, worn-down, brutal- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


419 


ized creatures, at first, could scarce compreliend this ; 
but, when it was continued week after week, and month 
after month, it began to awaken long-silent chords in 
their benumbed hearts. Gradually and imperceptibly the 
strange, silent, patient man, who was ready to bear every 
one’s burden, and sought help from none, — who stood 
aside for all, and came last, and took least, yet was fore- 
most to share his little all with any who needed, — the 
man who, in cold nights, would give up his tattered blanket 
to add to the comfort of some woman who shivered with 
sickness, and who filled the baskets of the weaker ones in the 
field, at the terrible risk of coming short in his own meas- 
ure, — and who, though pursued with unrelenting cruelty 
by their common tyrant, never joined in uttering a word 
of reviling or cursing, — this man, at last, began to have 
a strange power over them ; and, when the more pressing 
season was past, and they were allowed again their Sun- 
days for their own use, many would gather together to hear 
from him of Jesus. They would gladly have met to hear, 
and pray, and sing, in some place, together ; but Legree 
would not permit it, and more than once broke up such 
attempts, with oaths and brutal execrations, — so that the 
blessed news had to circulate from individual to individual. 
Yet who can speak the simple joy with which some of those 
poor outcasts, to whom life was a joyless journey to a dark 
unknown, heard of a compassionate Redeemer and a heav- 
enly home ? It is the statement of missionaries, that, of 
all races of the earth, none have received the Gospel with 
such eager docility as the African. The principle of reli- 
ance and unquestioning faith, which is its foundation, is 
more a native element in this race than any other ; and it 
has often been found among them, that a stray seed of truth, 
borne on some breeze of accident into hearts the most 
ignorant, has sprung up into fruit, whose abundance has 
shamed that of higher and more skilful culture. 

The poor mulatto woman, whose simple faith had been 
well-nigh crushed and overwhelmed, by the avalanche of 
cruelty and wrong which had fallen upon her, felt her soul 
raised up by the hymns and passages of Holy Writ, which 
this lowly missionary breathed into her ear in intervals, as 
they were going to and returning from work ; and even the 
half-crazed and wandering mind of Gassy was soothed and 
calmed by his simple and unobtrusive influences. 


420 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


Stung to madness and despair by the crushing agonies 
of a life, Gassy had often resolved in her soul an hour of 
retribution, when her hand should avenge on her oppressor 
all the injustice and cruelty to which she had been witness, 
or which she had in her own person suffered. 

One night, after all in Tom^s cabin were sunk in sleep, 
he was suddenly aroused by seeing her face at the hole 
between the logs, that served for a window. She made a 
silent gesture for him to come out. 

Tom came out the door. It was between one and two 
o’clock at night, — broad, calm, still moonlight. Tom re- 
marked, as the light of the moon fell upon Gassy’s large, 
black eyes, that there was a wild and peculiar glare in them, 
unlike their wonted fixed despair. 

Gome here. Father Tom,” she said, laying her small 
hand on his wrist, and drawing him forward with a force 
as if the hand were of steel ; come here, — I’ve news for 
you.” 

What, Misse Gassy ? ” said Tom, anxiously. 

Tom, wouldn’t you like your liberty ? ” 

I shall have it, Slisse, in God’s time,” said Tom. 

Ay, but you may have it to-night,” said Gassy, with a 
flash of sudden energy. Gome on.” 

Tom hesitated. 

Gome ! ” said she, in a whisper, fixing her black eyes 
on him. Gome along ! He’s asleep — sound. I put 
enough into his brandy to keep him so. I wish I’d had 
more, — I shouldn’t have wanted you. But come, the back 
door is unlocked ; there’s an axe there, I put it there, — 
his room door is open ; I’ll show you the way. I’d a done 
it myself, only my arms are so weak. Gome along ! ” 

Not for ten thousand worlds, Misse ! ” said Tom, 
firmly, stopping and holding her back, as she was pressing 
forward. 

^‘^But think of all these poor creatures,” said Gassy. 
^^We might set them all free, and go somewhere in the 
swamps, and find an island, and live by ourselves ; I’ve 
heard of its being done. Any life is better than this.” 

^‘No !” said Tom, firmly. ^^No ! good never comes of 
wickedness. I’d sooner chop my right hand off ’ ” 

Then I shall do it,” said Gassy, turning. 

0 Misse Gassy ! ” said Tom, throwing himself before her, 

for the dear Lord’s sake that died for ye, dcuaH. youi 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


421 


precious soul to the devil, that way ! Nothing but evil 
will come of it. The Lord hasnT called us to wrath. We 
must suJffer, and wait his time.” 

Wait !” said Gassy. ^^HavenT I waited ? — waited till 
my head is dizzy and my heart sick ? What has he made 
me suffer ? What has he made hundreds of poor creatures 
suffer ? IsnT he wringing the life-blood out of you ? I"m 
called on ; they call me ! His timers come, and IT have 
his hearts blood ! ” 

No, no, no ! ” said Tom, holding her small hands, which 
were clenched with spasmodic violence. No, ye poor, lost 
soul, that ye mustn't do. The dear, blessed Lord never shed 
no blood but His own, and that He poured out for us when we 
was enemies. Lord, help us to follow His steps, and love 
our enemies.” 

Love ! ” said Gassy, with a fierce glare ; love such ene- 
mies. It isn't in fiesh and blood.” 

^^No, Misse, it isn't,” said Tom, looking up ; but He 
gives it to us, and that's the victory. When we can love 
and pray over all, and through all, the battle's past, and 
the victory's come, — glory be to God ! ” And, with stream- 
ing eyes and choking voice, the black man looked up to 
heaven. 

And this, oh, Africa ! latest called of nations, — called 
to the crown of thorns, the scourge, the bloody sweat, the 
cross of agony, — this is to be thy victory ; by this shalt 
thou reign with Ghrist when his kingdom shall come on 
earth. 

The deep fervor of Tom's feelings, the softness of his voice, 
his tears, fell like dew on the wild, unsettled spirit of the 
poor woman. A softness gathered over the lurid fires of 
her eye ; she looked down and Tom could feel the relaxing 
muscles of her hands, as she said. 

Didn't I tell you that evil spirits followed me ? 0 ! 
Father Tom, I can't pray, — I wish I could. I never have 
prayed since my children were sold ! What you say must 
be right, I know it must ; but when I try to pray, I can 
only hate and curse. I can't pray ! ” 

Poor soul ! ” said Tom, compassionately. Satan 
desires to have ye, and sift ye as wheat. I pray the Lord 
for ye. 0 ! Misse Gassy, turn to the dear Lord Jesus. He 
came to bind up the broken-hearted, and comfort all that 
mourn.” 


422 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


Gassy stood silent, while large, heavy tears dropped from 
her downcast eyes. 

Misse Gassy,” said Tom, in a hesitating tone, after 
surveying her a moment in silence, if ye only could get 
away from here, — if the thing was possible, — I^d Vise 
ye and Emmeline to do it ; that is, if ye could go without 
blood-guiltiness, — not otherwise.” 

Would you try it with us. Father Tom ? ” 

^^No,” said Tom; ‘‘‘^time was when I would; but the 
Lord^s given rne a work among these yer poor souls, and 
IT stay with Vm and bear my cross with Vm till the end. 
ItV different with you ; it^s a snare to you, — iFs morV you 
can stand, — and youT better go, if ” 



I know no way but through 


There’s no beast or bird but can find a home some- 
where ; even the snakes and the alligators have their places 
to lie down and be quiet ; but there’s no place for us. Down 
in the darkest swamps, their dogs will hunt us out, and 
find us. Everybody and everything is against us ; even the 
very beasts side against us, and where shall we go ? ” 

Tom stood silent ; at length he said. 

Him that saved Daniel in the den of lions, — that saved 
the children in the fiery furnace, — Him that walked on the 
sea, and bade the winds be still, — He’s alive yet ; and I’ve 
faith to believe he can deliver you. Try it, and I’ll pray, 
with all my might for you.” 

By what strange law of mind is it that an idea long over- 
looked, and trodden under foot as a useless stone, suddenly 
sparkles out in a new light, as a discovered diamond ? 

Gassy had often revolved, for hours, all possible or prob- 
able schemes of escape, and dismissed them all, as hope- 
less and impracticable ; but at this moment there hashed 
through her mind a plan, so simple and feasible in all ita 
details, as to waken an instant hope. 

Father Tom, I’ll try it ! ” she said suddenly. 

‘‘ Amen I ” said Tom, the Lord help ye I ” 


LIFE AMOJSG THE LOWLY, 


42B 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE STRATAGEM. 

“The way of the wicked is as darkness ; he knoweth not at 
what he stumbleth.” 

The garret of the house that Legree occupied, like most 
other garrets, was a great, desolate space, dusty, hung with 
cobwebs, and littered with cast-off lumber. The opulent 
family that had inhabited the house in the days of its splen- 
dor had imported a great deal of splendid furniture, some 
of which they had taken away with them, while some re- 
mained standing desolate in mouldering, unoccupied rooms, 
or stored away in this place. One or two immense pack- 
ing-boxes, in which this furniture was brought, stood 
against the sides of the garret. There was a small window 
there, which let in, through its dingy, dusty panes, a scanty, 
uncertain light on the tall, high-backed chairs and dusty 
tables, that had once seen better days. Altogether, it was 
a weird and ghostly place ; but, ghostly as it was, it wanted 
not in legends among the superstitious negroes, to increase 
its terrors. Some few years before, a negro woman, who 
had incurred Legree^s displeasure, was confined there for 
several weeks. What passed there, we do not say ; the 
negroes used to whisper darkly to each other ; but it was 
known that the body of the unfortunate creature was one 
day taken down from there, and buried : and, after that, 
it was said that oaths and cursings and the sound of violent 
blows, used to ring through that old garret, and mingled with 
wailings and groans of despair. Once, when Legree chanced 
to overhear something of this kind, he fiew into a violent 
passion, and swore that the next one that told stories about 
that garret should have an opportunity of knowing what 
was there, for he would chain them up there for a week. 
This hint was enough to repress talking, though, of course, 
it did not disturb the credit of the story in the least. 

Gradually, the staircase that led to the garret, and even 
the passage-way to the staircase, were avoided by every one 
in the house, from every one fearing to speak of it, and the 


m 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


legend was gradually falling into desuetude. It had sud- 
denly occurred to Gassy to make use of the superstitious ex- 
citability, which was so great in Legree, for the purpose 
of her liberation, and that of her fellow suflerer. 

The sleeping-room of Gassy was directly under the garret. 
One day, without consulting Legree, she suddenly took it 
upon her, with some considerable ostentation, to change 
all the furniture and appurtenances of the room to one at 
some considerable distance. The under-servants, who were 
called on to effect this movement, were running and bus- 
tling about with great zeal and confusion, when Legree 
returned from a ride. 

Hallo ! you Gass said Legree, ^^whaGs in the wind 
now ? ” 

‘'‘Nothing ; only I choose to have another room," said 
Gassy, doggedly. 

“ And what for, pray ? " said Legree. 

“ I choose to," said Gassy. 

“ The devil you do ! and what for ? " 

“ I^d like to get some sleep, now and then." 

“ Sleep ! well, what hinders your sleeping ? " 

“I could tell, I suppose, if you want to hear," said 
Gassy, dryly. 

“ Speak out, you minx ! " said Legree. 

“ 0 ! nothing. I suppose it wouldnT disturb you ! 
Only groans, and people scuffling, and rolling round on 
the garret floor, half the night, from twelve to morning ! " 

“People up garret ! " said Legree, uneasily, but forcing 
a laugh ; “who are they. Gassy ?" 

Gassy raised her sharp, black eyes, and looked in the 
face of Legree, with an expression that went through his 
bones, as she said, “ To be sure, Simon, who are they ? 
I’d like to have yoti tell me. You don’t know, I sup- 
pose ! ’’ 

With an oath, Legree struck at her with his riding- 
whip ; but she glided to one side, and passed through the 
door, and looking back, said, “ If you’ll sleep in that 
room, you’ll know all about it. Perhaps you’d better try 
it ! ’’ and then immediately she shut and locked the door. 

Legree blustered and swore, and threatened to break 
down the door ; but apparently thought better of it, and 
walked uneasily into the sitting-room. Gassy perceived 
that her shaft had struck home ; and, from that hour, with 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


425 


the most exquisite address, she never ceased to continue 
the train of influences she had begun. 

In a knot-hole in the garret she had inserted the neck 
of an old bottle, in such a manner that when there was 
the least wind, most doleful and lugubrious wailing sounds 
proceeded from it, which, in a high wind, increased to a 
perfect shriek, such as to credulous and superstitious ears 
might easily seem to be that of horror and despair. 

These sounds were, from time to time, heard by the 
servants, and revived in full force the memory of the old 
ghost legend. A superstitious creeping horror seemed to 
fill the house ; and though no one dared to breathe it to 
Legree, he found himself encompassed by it, as by an 
atmosphere. 

No one is so thoroughly superstitious as the godless man. 
The Christian is composed by the belief of a wise, all- 
ruling Father, whose presence fills the void unknown with 
light and order ; but to the man who has dethroned God, 
the spirit-land is, indeed, in the words of the Hebrew poet, 

a land of darkness and the shadow of death,^^ without 
any order, where the light is as darkness. Life and death 
to him are haunted grounds, filled with goblin forms of 
vague and shadowy dread. 

Legree had had the slumbering moral element in him 
roused by his encounters with Tom, — roused, only to be 
resisted by the determinate force of evil ; but still there 
was a thrill and commotion of the dark, inner world, pro- 
duced by every word, or prayer, or hymn, that reacted in 
superstitious dread. 

The influence of Gassy over him was of a strange and 
singular kind. He was her owner, her tyrant and tor- 
mentor. She was, as he knew, wholly, and without any 
possibility of help or redress, in his hands ; and yet so it 
IS, that the most brutal man cannot live in constant associa- 
tion with a strong female influence, and not be greatly con- 
trolled by it. When he first bought her, she was, as she 
had said, a woman delicately bred ; and then he crushed 
her, without scruple, beneath the foot of his brutality. 
But, as time, and debasing influences, and despair, hard- 
ened womanhood within her, and waked the fires of fiercer 
passions, she had become in a measure his mistress, and he 
alternately tyrannized over and dreaded her. 

This influence had become more harassing and decided. 


426 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; 071, 


since partial insanity had given a strange, weird, unsettled 
cast to all her words and language. 

A night or two after this, Legree was sitting in the old 
sitting-room, by the side of a flickering wood Are, that threw 
uncertain glances round the room. It was a stormy, windy 
night, such as raises whole squadrons of nondescript noises 
in rickety old houses. Windows were rattling, shutters ' 
flapping, the wind carousing, rumbling, and tumbling down 
the chimney, and, every once in a while, puffing out smoke 
and ashes, as if a legion of spirits were coming after them. 
Legree had been casting up accounts and reading news- 
papers for some hours, while Gassy sat in the corner, sul- 
lenly looking into the Are. Legree laid down his paper, 
and seeing an old book lying on the table, which he had 
noticed Gassy reading, the flrst part of the evening, took 
it up, and began to turn it over. It was one of those col- 
lections of stories of bloody murders, ghostly legends, and 
supernatural visitations, which, coarsely got up and illus- 
trated, have a strange fascination for one who once begins 
to read them. 

Legree poohed and pished, but read, turning page after 
page, till. Anally, after reading some way, he threw down 
the book, with an oath. 

You don^t believe in ghosts, do you, Gass said he, 
taking the tongs and settling the Are. I thought you^d 
more sense than to let noises scare 

No matter what I believe,'’^ said Gassy, sullenly. 

Fellows used to try to frighten me with their yarns at 
sea,^^ said Legree. Never come it round me that way. 
Fm too tough for any such trash, tell ye.'’^ 

Gassy sat looking intensely at him in the shadow of the 
corner. There was that strange light in her eyes that 
always impressed Legree with uneasiness. 

them noises was nothing but rats and the wind,^^ said 
Legree. Rats will make a devil of a noise. I used to 
hear ^em sometimes down in the hold of the ship ; and 
wind, — Lord^s sake ! ye can make anything out o^ wind." 

Gassy knew Legree was uneasy under her eyes, and, 
therefore, she made no answer, but sat Axing them on him, 
with that strange, unearthly expression, as before. 

Gome, speak out, woman,— ^onT you think so ?" said 
Legree. 

Gan rats walk downstairs, and come walking through 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


427 


the entry, and open a door when youVe locked it and set 
a chair against it ? ” said Gassy ; and come walk, walk, 
walking right up to your bed, and put out their hand, so ? 

Gassy kept her glittering eyes fixed on Legree, as she 
spoke, and he stared at her like a man in the nightmare, 
till, when she finished by laying her hand, icy cold, on his, 
he sprung back, with an oath. 

Woman ! what do you mean ? Nobody did ? " 

0, no, — of course not, — did I say they did ? said 
Gassy, with a smile of chilling derision. 

feut — did — have you really seen ? — Gome, Gass, what 
is it, now, — speak out ! 

You may sleep there, yourself, said Gassy, if you 
want to know.^^ 

Did it come from the garret. Gassy ? 

It, — what ?" said Gassy. 

Why, what you told of 

I didn^t tell you anything, said Gassy, with dogged 
sullenness. 

Legree walked up and down the room, uneasily. 

ril have this yer thing examined. Ifil look into it, 
this very night. I'll take my pistols " 

Do," said Gassy ; sleep in that room. I'd like to see 
you doing it. Fire your pistols, — do !" 

Legree stamped his foot, and swore violently. 

Don't swear," said Gassy; nobody knows who may 
be hearing you. Hark ! What was that ! " 

What ? " said Legree, starting. 

A heavy old Dutch clock, that stood in the corner of the 
room, began, and slowly struck twelve. 

For some reason or other, Legree neither spoke nor 
moved ; a vague horror fell on him ; while Gassy, with a 
keen, sneering glitter in her eyes, stood looking at him, 
counting the strokes. 

Twelve o'clock ; well, now we'll see," said she, turn- 
ing, and opening the door into the passage-way, and 
standing as if listening. 

^^Hark ! What's th^at ?" said she, raising her finger. 

It's only the wind," said Legree. ‘‘ Don't you hear 
how cursedly it blows ? " 

Simon, come here," said Gassy, in a whisper, laying 
her hands on his, and leading him to the foot of the stairs : 

do you know what that is ? Hark 1 " 


428 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN; OB, 


A wild shriek came pealing down the stairway. It came 
from the garret. Legree^s knees knocked together ; his 
face grew white with fear. 

“ Hadn^t you better get your pistols said Gassy, with 
a sneer that froze Legree^s blood. It’s time this thing 
was looked into, you know. Fd like to have you go up 
now ; they’re at it.” 

I won’t go ! ” said Legree, with an oath. 

Why not ? There an’t any such thing as ghosts, you 
know ! Come ! ” and Gassy flitted up the winding stair- 
way, laughing, and looking back after him. Come 
on.” 

I believe you are the devil ! ” said Legree. Come 
back, you hag, — come back, Cass ! You shan’t go ! ” 

But Gassy laughed wildly, and fled on. He heard her 
open the entry doors that led to the garret. A wild gust 
of wind swept down, extinguishing the candle he held in 
his hand, and with it the fearful, unearthly screams ; they 
seemed to be shrieked in his very ear. 

Legree fled frantically into the parlor, whither, in a few 
moments, he was followed by Gassy, pale, calm, cold as 
an avenging spirit, and with that same fearful light in her 
eye. 

I hope you are satisfied,” said she. 

Blast you, Cass ! ” said Legree. 

‘^^What for?” said Gassy. ^‘1 only went up and shut 
the doors. What’s the matter with that garret, Simon, do 
you suppose ?” said she. 

^^ISTone of your business ! ” said Legree. 

0, it an’t ? Well,” said Gassy, at any rate, I’m glad 
/don’t sleep under it.” 

Anticipating the rising of the wind, that very evening. 
Gassy had been up and opened the garret window. Of 
course, the moment the doors were opened, the wind had 
drafted down, and extinguished the light. 

This may serve as a specimen of the game that Gassy 
played with Legree, until he would sooner have put his 
head into a lion’s mouth than to have explored that garret. 
Meanwhile, in the night, when everybody else was asleep, 
Gassy slowly and carefully accumulated there a stock of 
provisions suffioient to afford subsistence for some time ; 
she transferred, article by article, a greater part of her 
own and Emmeline’s wardrobe. All things being arranged. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


429 


they only waited a fitting opportunity to put their plan in 
execution. 

By cajoling Legree, and taking advantage of a good-na 
tured interval. Gassy had got him to take her with him to 
the neighboring town, which was situated directly on the 
Bed River. With a memory sharpened to almost preter- 
natural clearness, she remarked every turn in the road, 
and formed a mental estimate of the time to be occupied 
in traversing it. 

At the time when all was matured for action, our readers 
may, perhaps, like to look behind the scenes, and see the 
final coup cVetat. 

It was now near evening. Legree had been absent, on 
a ride to a neighboring farm. For many days Gassy had 
been unusually gracious and accommodating in her humors ; 
and Legree and she had been, apparently, on the best of 
terms. At present, we may behold her and Emmeline in 
the room of the latter, busy in sorting and arranging two 
small bundles. 

There, these will be large enough,” said Gassy. 
^'Now put on your bonnet, and leFs start ; iFs just about 
the right time.” 

Why, they can see us yet,” said Emmeline. 

I mean they shall,” said Gassy, coolly. Don^t you 
know that they must have their chase after us, at any rate ? 
The way of the thing is to be just this : — We will steal out 
of the back door, and run down by the quarters. Sambo 
or Quimbo will be sure to see us. They will give chase, 
and we will get into the swamp ; then, they canT follow us 
any further till they go up and give the alarm, and turn 
out the dogs, and so on ; and, while they are blundering 
round, and tumbling over each other, as they always do, 
you and I will just slip along to the creek, that runs back 
of the house, and wade along in it, till we get opposite the 
back door. That will put the dogs all at fault ; for scent 
wonT lie in the water. Every one will run out of the 
house to look after us, and then well whip in at the back 
door, and up into the garret, where IVe got a nice bed 
made up in one of the great boxes. We must stay in that 
garret a good while ; for, I tell you, he will raise heaven 
and earth after us. Hefil muster some of those old over- 
seers on the other plantations, and have a great hunt ; and 
theyfil go over every inch of ground in that swamp. He 


430 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


makes it his boast that nobody ever got away from him. 
So let him hunt at his leisure/^ 

Gassy, how well you have planned it ! said Emmeline. 

Who ever would have thought of it, but you ? 

There was neither pleasure nor exultation in Cassy^s 
eyes, — only a despairing firmness. 

Come,” she said, reaching her hand to Emmeline. 

The two fugitives glided noiselessly from the house, and 
flitted, through the gathering shadows of evening, along by 
the quarters. The crescent moon, set like a silver signet 
in the western sky, delayed a little the approach of night. 
As Gassy expected, when quite near the verge of the 
swamps that encircled the plantation, they heard a voice 
calling to them to stop. It was not Sambo, however, but 
Legree, who was pursuing them with violent execrations. 
At the sound, the feebler spirit of Emmeline gave way ; 
and la 3 dng hold of Cassy^s arm, she said, 0 Gassy, I^m 
going to faint ! ” 

If you do, Ifil kill you ! ” said Gassy, drawing a small, 
glittering stiletto, and flashing it before the eyes of the 
girl. 

The diversion accomplished the purpose. Emmeline 
did not faint, and succeeded in plunging, with Gassy, into 
a part of the labyrinth of swamp, so deep and dark that 
it was perfectly hopeless for Legree to think of following 
them, without assistance. 

^MVell,” said he, chuckling brutally; ^^at any rate, 
they’ve got themselves into a trap now — the baggages ! 
They’re safe enough. They shall sweat for it ! ” 

Hulloa, there ! Sambo ! Quimbo ! All hands ! ” 
called Legree, coming to the quarters, when the men and 
women were just returning from work. There’s two 
runaways in the swamps. I’ll give five dollars to any nig- 
ger as catches ’em. Turn out the dogs ! Turn out Tiger, 
and Eury, and the rest ! ” 

The sensation produced by this news was immediate. 
Many of the men sprang forward, officiously, to offer their 
services, either from the hope of the reward, or from that 
cringing subserviency which is one of the most baleful 
effects of slavery. Some ran one way, and some another. 
Some were for getting flambeaux of pine-knots. Some 
were for uncoupling the dogs, whose hoarse, savage bay 
added not a little to the animation of the scene. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


431 


y Mas^r, shall we shoot ’em, if we can’t cotch ’em ? ” 
said Sambo, to whom his master brought out a rifle. 

You may fire on Cass, if you like ; it’s time she was 
gone to the devil, where she belongs ; but the gal, not,” 
said Legree. And now, boys, be spry and smart. Five 
dollars for him that gets ’em ; and a glass of spirits to 
every one of you, anyhow.” 

The whole band, with the glare of blazing torches, and 
whoop, and shout, and savage yell, of man and beast, pro- 
ceeded down to the swamp, followed, at some distance, by 
every servant in the house. The establishment was, of a 
consequence, wholly deserted, when Gassy and Emmeline 
glided into it the back way. The whooping and shouts of 
their pursuers were still filling the air ; and, looking from 
the sitting-room windows. Gassy and Emmeline could see 
the troop, with their flambeaux, just dispersing themselves 
along the edge of the swamp. 

See there ! ” said Emmeline, pointing to Gassy ; the 
hunt is begun ! Look how those lights dance about ! 
Hark ! the dogs ! Don’t you hear ? If we were only 
there, our chance wouldn’t be worth a picayune. 0, for 
pity’s sake, do let’s hide ourselves. Quick ! ” 

There’s no occasion for hurry,” said Gassy, coolly ; 
they are all out after the hunt, — that’s the amusement 
of the evening ! We’ll go upstairs, by and by. Mean- 
while,” said she, deliberately taking a key from the pocket 
of a coat that Legree had thrown down in his hurry, 
meanwhile I shall take something to pay our passage.” 
She unlocked the desk, took from it a roll of bills, which 
she counted over rapidly. 

0, don’t let’s do that ! ” said Emmeline. 

Don’t ! ” said Gassy ; why not ? Would you have us 
starve in the swamps, or have that that will pay our way to 
the free states ? Money will do anything, girl.” And, as 
she spoke, she put the money in her bosom. 

It would be stealing,” said Emmeline, in a distressed 
whisper. 

Stealing ! ” said Gassy, with a scornful laugh. 
They who steal body and soul needn’t talk to us. Every 
one of these bills is stolen,— stolen from poor, starving, 
sweating creatures, who must go to the devil at last, for 
his profit. Let him talk about stealing ! But come, we 
may as well go up garret ; I’ve got a stock of candles there. 


432 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB, 


and some books to pass away the time. You may be pretty 
sure they won^’t come there to inquire after us. If they do, 
I'll play ghost for them." 

When Emmeline reached the garret, she found an im- 
mense box, in which some heavy pieces of furniture had 
once been brought, turned on its side, so that the opening 
faced the wall, or rather the eaves. Gassy lit a small lamp, 
and, creeping round under the eaves, they established 
themselves in it. It was spread with a couple of small mat- 
tresses and some pillows ; a box near by was plentifully 
stored with candles, provisions, and all the clothing neces- 
sary to their journey, which Gassy had arranged into 
bundles of an astonishingly small compass. 

There," said Gassy, as she fixed the lamp into a small 
hook, which she had driven into the side of the box for that 
purpose ; this is to be our home for the present. How 
do you like it ? " 

Are you sure they won't come and search the garret ?" 

I'd like to see Simon Legree doing that," said Gassy. 

No, indeed ; he will be too glad to keep away. As to 
the servants, they would any of them stand and be shot, 
sooner than show their faces here." 

Somewhat reassured, Emmeline settled herself back on 
her pillow. 

‘^What did you mean. Gassy, by saying you would kill 
me ? " she said, simply. 

I meant to stop your fainting," said Gassy, and I did 
do it. And now I tell you, Emmeline, you must make up 
your mind not to faint, let what will come ; there's no sort 
of need of it. If I had not stopped you, that wretch 
might have had his hands on you now." 

Emmeline shuddered. 

The two remained some time in silence. Gassy busied 
herself with a French book ; Emmeline, overcome with 
the exhaustion, fell into a doze, and slept some time. She 
was awakened by loud shouts and outcries, the tramp of 
horses' feet, and the baying of dogs. She started up, with 
a faint shriek. 

Only the hunt coming back," said Gassy coolly ; 

never fear. Look out of this knot-hole. Don't you see 
'em all down there ? Simon has to give it up, for this 
night. Look, how muddy his horse is, flouncing about in 
the swflTnp ; the dogs, too, look rather crestfallen. Ah, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 435 

my good sir, yoii^l have to try the race again and again, — 
the game isn^t there." 

^^0, don^t speak a word !" said Emmeline; ^^what if 
they should hear you ? " 

If they do hear anything, \z will make them very par- 
ticular to keep away," said Cassy. “No danger ; we may 
make any noise we please, and it will only add to the 
effect." 

At length the stillness of midnight settled down over 
the house. Legree, cursing his ill-luck, and vowing dir© 
vengeance on the morrow, went to bed. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE MAKTYR. 

Deem not the just by Heaven forgot I 
Though life its common gifts deny, — 

Though, with a crushed and bleeding heart, 

And spumed of man, he goes to die 1 
For God hath marked each sorrowing day, 

And numbered every bitter tear ; 

And heaven’s long years of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here.” Bryant. 

The longest way must have its close, — the gloomiest 
night will wear on to a morning. An eternal, inexorable 
lapse of moments is ever hurrying the day of the evil to an 
eternal night, and the night of the just to an eternal day. 
We have walked with our humble friend thus far in the 
valley of slavery ; first through fiowery fields of ease and 
indulgence, then through heart-breaking separations from 
all that man holds dear. Again, we have waited with 
him in a sunny island, where generous hands concealed 
his chains with fiowers ; and, lastly, we have followed him 
when the last ray of earthly hope went out in night, and 
seen how, in the blackness of earthly darkness, the firma- 
ment of the unseen has blazed with stars of new and sig- 
nificant lustre. 

The morning star now stands over the tops of the mount- 
ains, and gales and breezes, not of earth, show that the 
gates of day are unclosing. 

The escape of Cassy and Emmeline irritated the before 
28 


4S4 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


surly temper of Legree to the last degree ; and his fury, as 
was to be expected, fell upon the defenceless head of Tom. 
When he hurriedly announced the tidings among his hands, 
there was a sudden light in Tom^s eye, a sudden upraising 
of his hands, that did not escape him. He saw that he did 
not join the muster of the pursuers. He thought of forc- 
ing him to do it ; but, having had, of old, experience of his 
inflexibility when commanded to take part in any deed of 
inhumanity, he would not, in his hurry, stop to enter into 
any conflict with him. 

Tom, therefore, remained behind, with a few who had 
learned of him to pray, and offered up prayers for the 
escape of the fugitives. 

When Legree returned, baffled and disappointed, all the 
long- working hatred of his soul towards his slave began to 
gather in a deadly and desperate form. Had not this man 
braved him, — steadily, powerfully, resistlessly, — ever since 
he bought him ? Was there not a spirit in him which, 
silent as it was, burned on him like the fires of perdition ? 

I hate him ! ” said Legree, that night, as he sat up in 
his bed ; ^*1 hate him ! And isnT he mine ? CanT I do 
what I like with him ? Who^s to hinder, I wonder ? 
And Legree clenched his fist, and shook it, as if he had 
something in his hands that he could rend in pieces. 

But, then, Tom was a faithful, valuable servant ; and, 
although Legree hated him the more for that, yet the con- 
sideration was still somewhat of a restraint to him. 

The next morning, he determined to say nothing, as yec ; 
to assemble a party, from some neighboring plantations, 
with dogs and guns ; to surround the swamp, and go 
about the hunt systematically. If it succeeded, well and 
good ; if not he -would summon Tom before him, and — 
his teeth clenched and his blood boiled — then he would 

break that fellow down, or there was a dire inward 

whisper, to which his soul assented. 

Ye say that the interest of the master is a sufficient safe- 
guard for the slave. In the fury of man^s mad will, he 
will wittingly, and with open eyes, sell his o-wn soul to the 
devil to gain his ends ; and will he be more careful of his 
neighbor^’s body ? 

^^Well," said Gassy, the next day, from the garret, as 
she reconnoitred through the knot-hole, ^‘the hunt^s 
going bo begin again, to-day ! 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


435 


Three or four mounted horsemen were curvetting about, 
on the space in front of the house ; and one or two leashes 
of strange dogs were struggling with the negroes who held 
them, haying and harking at each other. 

The men are,two of them, overseers of plantations in the 
vicinity, and others were some ©f Legree's associates at the 
tavern-bar of a neighboring city, who had come for, the 
interest of the sport. A more hard-favored set, perhaps, 
could not be imagined. Legree was serving brandy, pro- 
fusely, round among them, as also among the negroes, who 
had been detailed from the various plantations for this 
service ; for it was an object to make every service of this 
kind, among the negroes, as much of a holiday as possible. 

Cassy placed her ear at the knot-hole ; and, as the morn- 
ing air blew directly towards the house, she could overhear 
a good deal of the conversation. A grave sneer overcast 
the dark, severe gravity of her face, as she listened, and 
heard them divide out the ground, discuss the rival merits 
of the dogs, give orders about firing, and the treatment of 
each, in case of capture. 

Cassy drew back ; and, clasping her hands, looked 
upward, and said, 0 great Almighty God ! we are all 
sinners ; but what have we done, more than all the rest of 
the world, that we should be treated so ? 

There was a terrible earnestness in her face and voice, 
as she spoke. 

If it wasn^t for you, child, she said, looking at 
Emmeline, ^‘^Td go out to them ; and Fd thank anyone of 
them that would shoot me down ; for what use will free- 
dom be to me ? Can it give me back my children, or 
make me what I used to be ? 

Emmeline, in her child-like simplicity, was half afraid 
of the dark moods of Cassy. She looked perplexed, but 
made no answer. She only took her hand, with a gentle, 
caressing movement. 

Don^t ! ” said Cassy, trying to draw it away ; ^^youfil 
get me to loving you ; and I never mean to love anything, 
again ! 

Poor Cassy ! said Emmeline, don^t feel so ! If 
the Lord gives us liberty, perhaps Hefil give you back your 
daughter ; at any rate. I’ll be like a daughter to you. I 
know I’ll never see my poor old mother again ! I shall 
love you, Cassy, whether you love me or not 1 ” 


436 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


The gentle, child-like spirit conquered. Gassy sat down 
by her, put her arm round her neck, stroked her soft, 
brown hair ; and Emmeline then wondered at the beauty 
of her magnificent eyes, now soft with tears. 

0 Em said Gassy, I’ve hungered for my children, 
and thirsted for them, and my eyes fail with longing for 
them ! Here ! here ! " she said, striking her breast, iGs 
all desolate, all empty ! If God would give me back my 
children, then I could pray.^’ 

You must trust him. Gassy,” said Emmeline ; ^‘^he is 
our Father ! ” 

His wrath is upon us,” said Gassy ; he has turned 
away in anger.” 

^^No, Gassy ! He will be good to us ! Let us hope in 
Him,” said Emmeline, — I always have had hope.” 

:|( :)c ^ ^ ^ 

The hunt was long, animated, and thorough, but un- 
successful ; and, with grave, ironic exultation. Gassy 
looked down on Legree, as, weary and dispirited, he 
alighted from his horse. 

^^How, Quimbo,” said Legree, as he stretched himself 
down in the sitting-room, ^^you jest go and walk that Tom 
up here, right away ! The old cuss is at the bottom of 
this yer whole matter ; and I’ll have it out of his old black 
hide, or I’ll know the reason why ! ” 

Sambo and Quimbo, both, though hating each other, 
were joined in one mind by a no less cordial hatred of Tom. 
Legree had told them, at first, that 'he had bought him 
for a general overseer, in his absence ; and this had begun 
an ill-will, on their part, which had increased, in their 
debased and servile natures, as they saw him becoming 
obnoxious to their master’s displeasure. Quimbo, there- 
fore, departed with a will, to execute his orders. 

Tom heard the message with a forewarning heart ; for 
he knew all the plan of the fugitives’ escape, and the place 
of their present concealment ; — he knew the deadly char- 
acter of the man he had to deal with, and his despotic 
power. But he felt strong in God to meet death, rather 
than betray the helpless. 

He set his basket down by the row, and, looking up, said. 

Into thy hands I commend my spirit ! Thou hast re- 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


437 


deemed me, oli Lord God of truth ! and then quietly 
yielded himself to the rough, brutal grasp with whicn 
Quimbo seized him. 

Ay, ay ! ” said the giant, as he dragged him along ; 
ye^ll cotch it, now ! 1^11 boun’ Mas^’r^s backus up high ! 

No sneaking out, now ! Tell ye, yell get it, and no mis^ 
take ! See how ye^U look, now, helpin^ MasT^s niggers to 
run away ! See what yell get ! 

The savage words none of them reached that ear ! — a 
higher voice there was saying, Fear not them that kill 
the body, and, after that, have no more that they can do.^’ 
Nerve and bone of that poor man^s body vibrated to those 
words, as if touched by the finger of God ; and he felt the 
strength of a thousand souls in one. As he passed along, 
the trees and bushes, the huts of his servitude, the whole 
scene of his degradation, seemed to whirl by him as the 
landscape by the rushing car. His soul throbbed, — his 
home was in sight, — and the hour of release seemed at 
hand. 

^^Well, Tom said Legree, walking up, and seizing 
him grimly by the collar of his coat, and speaking through 
his teeth, in a paroxysm of determined rage, do you know 
Fve made up my mind to kill you ? 

IFs very likely, MasT,"' said Tom, calmly. 

^‘1 have,’^ said Legree, with grim, terrible calmness, 
done— just — that — thing, Tom, unless youll tell me what 
you know about these yer gals ! 

Tom stood silent. 

D'ye hear said Legree, stamping, with a roar like 
that of an incensed lion. Speak ! " 

I han't got nothing to tell, Mas'r," said Tom, with a 
slow, firm, deliberate utterance. 

Do you dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don't 
tcnoio f " said Legree. 

Tom was silent. 

Speak ! " thundered Legree, striking him furiously. 
Do you know anything ? " 

I know, Mas'r ; but I can't tell anything. lean die ! '* 
Legree drew in a long breath ; and, suppressing his rage, 
took Tom by the arm, and, approaching his face almost to 
his, said, in a terrible voice, Hark'e, Tom ! — ye think, 
'cause I've let you oif before, I don't mean what I say ; but, 
this time, I've made up my mind, and counted the cost. 


438 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, 


YouVe always stood it out agin^ me : now, Fll conquer ye^ 
or hill ye I — one or toother. Fll count every drop of blood 
there is in you, and take ^em, one by one, till ye give up ! ” 

Tom looked up to his master, and answered, “ MasT, if 
you was sick, or in trouble, or dying, and I could save ye, 
Fd give ye my hearths blood ; and, if taking every drop of 
blood in this poor old body would save your precious soul, 
Fd give ^em freely, as the Lord gave His for me. 0 MasT ! 
donT bring this great sin on your soul ! It will hurt you 
more than Twill me ! Do the worst you can, my troubles 
^11 be over soon ; but, if ye donT repent, yours wonT never 
end ! ” 

Like a strange snatch of heavenly music, heard in the 
lull of a tempest, this burst of feeling made a momenFs 
blank pause. Legree stood aghast, and looked at Tom ; 
and there was such a silence, that the tick of the old clock 
could be heard, measuring, with silent touch, the last 
moments of mercy and probation to that hardened heart. 

It was but a moment. There was one hesitating pause, 

■ — one irresolute, relenting thrill, — and the spirit of evil 
came back, with seven-fold vehemence ; and Legree, foam- 
ing with rage, smote his victim to the ground. 

4 : 4 : 4 : 

Scenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and 
heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to 
hear. What brother-man and brother-Christian must suf- 
fer, cannot be told us, even in our secret chamber, it so 
harrows up the soul ! And yet, oh my country ! these 
things are done under the shadow of thy laws ! 0 Christ ! 

Thy church sees them, almost in silence ! 

But, of old, there was One whose suffering changed an 
instrument of torture, degradation, and shame, into a sym- 
bol of glory, honor, and immortal life ; and, where His 
spirit is, neither degrading stripes, nor blood, nor insults, 
can make the OhristianT last struggle less than glorious. 

Was he alone, that long night, whose brave, loving spirit 
was bearing up, in that old shed, against buffeting and 
brutal stripes ? 

Nay ! There stood by him Oi^e, — seen by him alone, — 
^Hike unto the Son of Cod.” 

The tempter stood by him, too, — blinded by furious, 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


439 


despotic will, — every moment pressing him to shun that 
agony by the betrayal of the innocent. But the brave, 
true heart was firm on the Eternal Rock. Like his Mas- 
ter, he knew that, if he saved others, himself he could not 
save ; nor could utmost extremity wring from him words, 
save of prayer and holy trust. 

He^s most gone, Mas^r,^^ said Sambo, touched, in spite 
of himself, by the patience of his victim. 

Pa^ away, till he gives up ! Give it to him ! — give 
it to him ! shouted Legree. Eli take every drop of 
blood he has, unless he confesses ! 

Tom opened his eyes, and looked upon his master. Ye 
poor miserable critter ! he said, there an^’t no more ye 
can do ! I forgive ye, with all my soul I” and he fainted 
entirely away. 

I b’lieve my soul he^s done for, finally, said Legree, 
stepping forward, to look at him. Yes, he is ! Well, 
his mouth^s shut up, at last, — thaPs one comfort ! 

Yes, Legree ; but who shall shut up that voice in thy 
soul ? that soul, past repentance, past prayer, past hope, 
in whom the fire that never shall be quenched is already 
burning ! 

Yet Tom was not quite gone. His wondrous words and 
pious prayers had struck upon the hearts of the imbruted 
blacks, who had been the instruments of cruelty upon him ; 
and, the instant Legree withdrew, they took him down, 
and, in their ignorance, sought to call him back to life, — 
as if that were any favor to him. 

Sartin, we^s been doin^ a drefful wicked thing ! said 
Sambo; hopes Mas^rfil have to Yount for it, and not 
we.^^ 

They washed his wounds, — they provided a rude bed, of 
some refuse cotton, for him to lie down on ; and one of 
them, stealing up to the house, begged a drink of brandy 
of Legree, pretending that he was tired, and wanted it for 
himself. He brought it back, and poured it down TomY 
throat. 

0 Tom ! said Quimbo, weY been awful wicked to 

ye J " 

1 forgive ye, with all my heart ! said Tom, faintly. 

^^0 Tom! do tell us who is Jesus y anyhow said 

Sambo ; — Jesus, thaPs been a-standin^ by you so, all this 
night ! — Who is he ? 


440 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


The word roused the failing, fainting spirit. He poured 
forth a few energetic sentences of that wondrous One, — His 
life. His death. His everlasting presence, and power to save. 
They wept, — both the two savage men. 

^^Why didnT I never hear this before?” said Sambo, 
'^but I do believe! — I canT help it; Lord Jesus, have 
mercy on us I ” 

Poor critters 1 ” said Tom, Fd be willing to bar all 
I have, if iPll only bring ye to Christ ! 0 Lord ! give me 
these two more souls, I pray I ” 

That prayer was answered ! 


CHAPTER XLL 

THE YOUHG MASTER. 

Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up 
through the avenue of China-trees, and, throwing the reins 
hastily on the horses^ neck, sprang out and inquired for 
the owner of the place. 

It was George Shelby ; and, to show how he came to be 
there, we must go back in our story. 

The letter of Miss Ophelia to Mrs. Shelby had, by some 
unfortunate accident, been detained, for a month or two, 
at some remote post-office before it reached its destination ; 
and, of course, before it was received, Tom was already lost 
to view among the distant swamps of the Red River. 

Mrs. Shelby read the intelligence with the deepest con- 
cern ; but any immediate action upon it was an impossi- 
bility. She was then in attendance on the sick-bed of her 
husband, who lay delirious in the crisis of a fever. Master 
George Shelby, who, in the interval, had changed from a 
boy to a tall young man, was her constant and faithful as- 
sistant, and her only reliance in superintending his fathers 
affairs. Miss Ophelia had taken the precaution to send 
them the name of the lawyer who did business for the 
St. Clares ; and the most that, in the emergency, could be 
done, was to address a letter of inquiry to him. The sud- 
den death of Mr. Shelby, a few days after, brought, of 
course, an absorbing pressure of other interests for a season. 

Mr. Shelby showed his confidence in his wife^s ability by 
appointing her sole executrix upon his estates ; and thus 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 441 

immediately a large and complicated amount of business 
was brought upon her hands. 

Mrs. Shelby, with characteristic energy, applied herself 
to the work of straightening the entangled web of affairs ; 
and she and George were for some time occupied with col- 
lecting and examining accounts, selling property and set- 
tling debts, for Mrs. Shelby was determined that every- 
thing should be brought into tangible and recognizable 
shape, let the consequences to her prove what they might. 
In the meantime, they received a letter from the lawyer to 
whom Miss Ophelia had referred them, saying that he 
knew nothing of the matter, that the man was sold at a 
public auction, and that, beyond receiving the money, he 
knew nothing of the affair. 

Neither George nor Mrs. Shelby could be easy at this 
result, and, accordingly, some six months after, the latter, 
having business for his mother, down the river, resolved to 
visit New Orleans, in person, and push his inquiries, in 
hopes of discovering Tom^s whereabouts, and restoring him. 

After some months of unsuccessful search, by the merest 
accident, George fell in with a man, in New Orleans, who 
happened to be possessed of the desired information ; and 
with his money in his pocket, our hero took steamboat for 
Eed Eiver, resolving to find out and re-purchase his old 
friend. 

He was soon introduced into the house, where he found 
Legree in the sitting-room. 

Legree received the stranger with a kind of surly hospi- 
tality. 

understand,^'’ said the young man, ^^that you 
bought, in New Orleans, a boy, named Tom. He used to 
be on my father^’s place and I came to see if I couldn’t 
buy him back.” 

Legree’s brow grew dark, and he broke out passionately : 

Yes, I did buy such a fellow, — and a h — 1 of a bargain I 
had of it, too ! The most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog! 
Set up my niggers to run away, got off two gals, worth 
eight hundred or a thousand dollars apiece. He owned to 
that, and when I bid him tell me where they was, he up 
and said he knew, but he wouldn’t tell, and stoed to it, 
though I gave him the cussedest hogging I ever gave nig- 
rer yet. I b’lieve he’s trying to die ; but I don’t know as 
I'v’n make it out.’' 


442 


UNCLE TOM^S CABIN ; OR, 


Where is he ? said George, impetuously. Let me 
Bee him.^^ The cheeks of . the young man were crimson, 
and his eyes flashed Are ; but he prudently said nothing, 
as yet. 

He^s in dat ar shed,” said a little fellow, who stood 
holding George^s horse. 

Legree kicked the hoy, and swore at him ; hut George, 
without saying another word, turned and strode to the 
spot. 

Tom had been lying two days since the fatal night ; not 
suffering, for every nerve of suffering was blunted and de- 
stroyed. He lay, for the most part, in a quiet stupor ; for 
the laws of a powerful and well-knit frame would not at 
once release the imprisoned spirit. By stealth, there had 
been there, in the darkness of the night, poor desolated 
creatures, who stole from their scanty hours^ rest, that they 
might repay to him some of those ministrations of love in 
which he had always been so abundant. Truly, those poor 
disciples had little to give, — only the cup of cold water ; 
but it was given with full hearts. 

Tears had fallen on that honest, insensible face, — tears 
of late repentance in the poor, ignorant heathen, whom his 
dying love and patience had awakened to repentance, and 
bitter prayers, breathed over him to a late-found Saviour, 
of whom they scarce knew more than the name, but whom 
the yearning ignorant heart of man never implores in vain. 

Gassy, who had glided out of her place of concealment, 
and, by overhearing, learned the sacriflce that had been made 
for her and Emmeline, had been there, the night before, 
defying the danger of detection ; and, moved by the few 
last words which the affectionate soul had yet strength to 
breathe, the long winter of despair, the ice of years, had 
given way, and the dark, despairing woman had wept and 
prayed. 

When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy 
and his heart sick. 

Is it possible,— is it possible ?” said he, kneeling down 
by him. Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend !” 

Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the 
dying. He moved his head gently, smiled, and said. 


“ Jesus can make a dying-bed 
Feel soft as downy pillows are.' 






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LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


443 


Tears which did honor to his manly heart fell from the 
young man^s eyes, as he bent over his poor friend. 

0, dear Uncle Tom ! do wake, — do speak once more ! 
Look up ! Here^s Mas^r George, — your own little Mas’r 
George. DonT you know me ? " 

MasT George ! said Tom, opening his eyes, and speak- 
ing in a feeble voice ; MasT George ! He looked be- 
wildered. 

Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul ; and the vacant 
eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted 
up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the 
cheeks. 

Bless the Lord ! it is, — it is, — it"s all I wanted ! They 
havenT forgot me. It warms my soul ; it does my old heart 
good ! Now I shall die content ! Bless the Lord, oh my 
soul ! ” 

You shanT die ! you mustriH die, nor think of it ! Fve 
come to buy you, and take you home,^^ said George, with 
impetuous vehemence. 

0 Mash George, ye’re too late. The Lord’s bought 
me, and is going to take me home, — and I long to go. 
Heaven is better than Kintuck.” 

0, don’t die ! It’ll kill me ! — it’ll break my heart to 
think what you’ve suffered, — and lying in this old shed, 
here ! Poor, poor fellow ! ” 

Don’t call me poor fellow !” said Tom, solemnly. 
have been poor fellow ; but that’s all past and gone, now. 
I’m right in the door, going into glory ! 0 Mas’r George ! 

Heaven has come ! I’ve got the victory ! — the Lord Jesus 
has given it to me ! Glory be to His name ! ” 

George was awe-struck at the force, the vehemence, the 
power, with which these broken sentences were uttered. 
He sat gazing in silence. 

Tom grasped his hand, and continued, — Ye mustn’t, 
now, tell Ohloe, poor soul ! how ye found me ; — ’twould be 
so drefful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into 
glory ; and that I couldn’t stay for no one. And tell her 
the Lord’s stood by me everywhere and al’ays, and made 
everything light and easy. And oh, the poor chil’en, and 
the baby ! — my old heart’s been most broke for ’em, time 
and agin ! Tell ’em all to follow me — follow me ! Give 
my love to Mas’r, and dear good Missis, and everybody in 
the place ! Ye don’t know I ’Pears like I loves ’em all ! 


444 


UNCLE TOJ^rS CABIN ; OR, 


I loves every creatur’, everywhar ! — it^s nothing but love ? 
0 Mash George ! what a thing his to be a Christian ! 

At this moment, Legree sauntered up to the door of the 
shed, looked in, with a dogged air of affected carelessness, 
and turned away. 

The old satan ! said George, in his indignation. Ith 
a comfort to think the devil will pay him for this, some of 
these days ! 

0, donh ! — oh, ye mustnh ! said Tom, grasping his 
hand ; ^^heh a poor mishble critter ! Ith awful to think 
onh ! 0, if he only could repent, the Lord would forgive 

him now ; but Fm beared he never will ! 

I hope he wonh ! ” said George ; ^‘1 never want to see 
Mm in heaven ! 

Hush, Mash George ! — it worries me ! Donh feel so ! 
He anh done me no real harm, — only opened the gate of 
the kingdom for me ; thaFs all ! 

At this moment, the sudden flush of strength which the 
joy of meeting his young master had infused into the dying 
man gave way. A sudden sinking fell upon him ; he closed 
his eyes ; and that mysterious and sublime change passed 
over his face, that told the approach of other worlds. 

He began to draw his breath with long, deep inspirations ; 
and his broad chest rose and fell, heavily. The expression 
of his face was that of a conqueror. 

Who, — who, — who shall separate us from the love of 
Christ ? he said, in a voice that contended with mortal 
weakness ; and, with a smile, he fell asleep. 

George sat fixed with solemn awe. It seemed to him 
that the place was holy ; and, as he closed the lifeless eyes, 
and rose up from the dead, only one thought possessed him, 
— that expressed by his simple old friend, — What a thing 
it is to be a Christian ! ” 

He turned : Legree was standing, sullenly, behind 
him. 

Something in that dying scene had checked the natural 
fierceness of youthful passion. The presence of the man 
was simply loathsome to George ; and he felt only an im- 
pulse to get away from him, with as few words as possible. 

Fixing his keen dark eyes on Legree, he simply said, 

P ointing to the dead, You have got all you ever can of 
im. What shall I pay you for the body ? I will take it 
away, and bury it decently,” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


445 


don’t sell dead niggers/’ said Legree, doggedly. 

You are welcome to bury him where and when you like.” 

Boys/’ said George, in an authoritative tone, to two 
or three negroes, who were looking at the body, help me 
lift him up, and carry him to my wagon ; and get me a 
spade.” 

One of them ran for a spade ; the other two assisted 
George to carry the body to the wagon. 

George neither spoke to nor looked at Legree, who did 
not countermand his orders, but stood, whistling, with an 
air of forced unconcern. He sulkily followed them to 
where the wagon stood at the door. 

George spread his cloak in the wagon, and had the body 
carefully disposed of in it, — moving the seat, so as to give 
it room. Then he turned, fixed his eyes on Legree, and 
said, with forced composure, 

I have not, as yet, said to you what I think of this 
most atrocious affair ; — this is not the time and place. 
But, sir, this innocent blood shall have justice. I will 
proclaim this murder. I will go to the very first magis- 
trate, and expose you.” 

Do ! ” said Legree, snapping his fingers, scornfully. 
** I’d like to see you doing it. Where you going to get 
witnesses ? — how you going to prove it ? — Come, now ! ” 

George saw, at once, the force of this defiance. There 
was not a white person on the place, and, in all southern 
courts, the testimony of colored blood is nothing. He felt, 
at that moment, as if he could have rent the heavens with 
his heart’s indignant cry for justice ; but in vain. 

After all, what a fuss, for a dead nigger ! ” said 
Legree. 

The word was as a spark to a powder magazine. Pru- 
dence was never a cardinal virtue of the Kentucky boy. 
George turned, and, with one indignant blow, knocked 
Legree fiat upon his face ; and, as he stood over him, blaz- 
ing with wrath and defiance, he would have formed no 
bad personification of his great namesake triumphing over 
the dragon. 

Some men, however, are decidedly bettered by being 
knocked down. If a man lays them fairly fiat in the dust, 
they seem immediately to conceive a respect for him ; 
and Legree was one of this sort. As he rose, therefore, 
and brushed the dust from his clothes, he eyed the slowly- 


446 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN ; OR, 


retreating wagon with some evident consideration; nor 
did he open his month till it was out of sight. 

Beyond the boundaries of the plantation, George had 
noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees : there 
they made the grave. 

Shall we take off the cloak, Mas’r ? said the negroes, 
when the grave was ready. 

No, no, — bury it with him ! It^s all I can give you, 
now, poor Tom, and you shall have it." 

They laid him in ; and the men shovelled away, silently. 
They banked it up, and laid green turf over it. 

You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter 
into the hand of each. They lingered about, however. 

If young Mas’r would please buy us " said one. 

We^d serve him so faithful ! " said the other. 

Hard times here, Mas^r ! " said the first. Do, Mas’r, 
buy us, please ! " 

I canT ! — I canH ! " said George, with difficulty 
motioning them off ; it^s impossible ! " 

The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in 
silence. 

** Witness, eternal God ! " said George, kneeling on the 

g rave of his poor friend ; ^^oh, witness, that, from this 
our, I will do what one man can to drive out this curse of 
slavery from my land I " 

There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of 
our friend. He needs none ! His Lord knows where he 
lies, and will raise him up, immortal, to appear with Him 
when he shall appear in His glory. 

Pity him not ! Such a life and death is not for pity ! 
Not in the riches of omnipotence is the chief glory of God ; 
but in self-denying suffering love ! And blessed are the 
men whom He calls to fellowship with Him, bearing their 
cross after Him with patience. Of such it is written. 
Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be com- 
forted." 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 




CHAPTER XLII. 

AUTHEISTTIC GHOST STORY. 

For some remarkable reason, ghostly legends were tin- 
commonly rife, about this time, among the servants on 
Legree^s place. 

It was whisperingly asserted that footsteps, in the dead 
of night, had been heard descending the garret stairs, and 
patrolling the house. In vain the doors o3 the upper entry 
had been locked ; the ghost either carried a duplicate key 
in its pocket, or availed itself of a ghosPs immemorial priv- 
ilege of coming through the keyhole, and promenaded as 
before, with a freedom that was alarming. 

Authorities were somewhat divided, as to the outward 
form of the spirit, owing to a custom quite prevalent 
among negroes, — and, for aught we know, among whites, 
too, — of invariably shutting the eyes, and covering up 
heads under blankets, petticoats, or whatever else might 
come in use for a shelter, on these occasions. Of course, 
as everybody knows, when the bodily eyes are thus out of 
the lists, the spiritual eyes are uncommonly vivacious and 
perspicuous ; and, therefore, there were abundance of full- 
length portraits of the ghost, abundantly sworn and testified 
to, which, as is often the case with portraits, agreed with 
each other in no particular, except the common family 
peculiarity of the ghost tribe, — the wearing of a white sheet. 
The poor souls were not versed in ancient history, and did 
not know that Shakespeare had authenticated this costume, 
by telling how 

“ The sheeted dead 

Did squeak and gibber in the streets of Rome.” 

And, therefore, their all hitting upon this is a striking 
fact in pneumatology, which we recommend to the atten- 
tion of spiritual media generally. 

Be it as it may, we have private reasons for knowing 
that a tall figure in a white sheet did walk, at the most 
approved ghostly hours, around the Legree premises, — pass 
out the doc^s, glide about the house, — disappear at inter- 


m 


UNCLE TOWS CABIN ; OB, 


vals, and, reappearing, pass up the silent stairway, into 
that fatal garret ; and that, in the morning, the entry 
doors were all found shut and locked as firm as ever. 

'Legree could not help overhearing this whispering ; and 
it was all the more exciting to him, from the pains that 
were taken to conceal it from him. He drank more brandy 
than usual ; held up his head briskly, and swore louder 
than ever in the daytime ; but he had bad dreams, and the 
visions of his head on his bed were anything but agreeable. 
The night after Tom^s body had been carried aw^ay, he rode 
to the next town for a carouse, and had a high one. Got 
home late and tired ; locked his door, took out the key, and 
went to bed. 

After all, let a man take what pains he may to hush it 
down, a human soul is an awful ghostly, unquiet possession, 
for a bad man to have. Who knows the metes and bounds 
of it ? Who knows all its awful perhapses, — those shudder- 
ings and tremblings, which it can no more live down than 
it can outlive its own eternity ! What a fool is he who 
locks his door to keep out spirits, who has in his own bosom 
a spirit he dares not meet alone, — whose voice, smothered 
far down, and piled over with mountains of earthliness, is 
yet like the forewarning trumpet of doom ! 

But Legree locked his door and set a chair against it ; he 
set a night-lamp at the head of his bed ; and he put his 
pistols there. He examined the catches and fastenings of 
the windows, and then swore he ^^didnT care for the devil 
and all his angels,^^ and went to sleep. 

Well, he slept, for he was tired, — slept soundly. But, 
finally, there came over his sleep a shadow, a horror, an 
apprehension of something dreadful hanging over him. It 
was his mother^s shroud, he thought ; but Gassy had it, 
holding it up, and showing it to him. He heard a con- 
fused noise of screams and groanings ; and, with it all, he 
knew he was asleep, and he struggled to wake himself. 
He was half awake. He was sure something was coming 
into his room. He knew the door was opening, but he could 
not stir hand or foot. At last he turned, with a start ; the 
door was open, and he saw a hand putting out his light. 

It was a cloudy, misty moonlight, and there he saw it ! — 
something white gliding in ! He heard the still rustle of 
its ghostly garments. It stood still by his bed ; — a cold 
hand touched his ; a voice said, three times, in a low, fear* 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


449 


ful whisper, ** Come ! come ! come ! ” And while he lay 
sweating with terror, he knew not when or how, the thing 
was gone. He sprang out of bed, and pulled at the door. 
It was shut and locked, and the man fell down in a swoon. 

After this, Legree became a harder drinker than ever 
before. He no longer drank cautiously, prudently, but im- 
prudently and recklessly. 

There were reports around the country, soon after, that 
he was sick and dying. Excess had brouglit on that fright- 
ful disease that seems to k row the lurid shadows of a com- 
ing retribution back into the present life. Hone could bear 
the horrors of that sick room, when he raved and screamed, 
and spoke of sights which almost stopped the blood of those 
who heard him ; and, at his dying bed, stood a stern, white, 
inexorable figure, saying, Come ! come ! come 1 ** 

By a singular coincidence, on the very night that this 
vision appeared to Legree, the house-door was found open 
in the morning, and some of the negroes had seen two white 
figures gliding down the avenue towards the high-road. 

It was near sunrise when Cassy and Emmeline paused, 
for a moment, in a little knot of trees near the town. 

Cassy was dressed after the manner of the Creole Spanish 
ladies, — wholly in black. A small black bonnet on her 
head, covered by a veil thick with embroidery, concealed 
her face. It had been agreed that, in their escape, she was 
to personate the character of a Creole lady, and Emmeline 
that of her servant. 

Brought up, from early life, in connection with the 
highest society, the language, movements, and air of Cassy, 
were all in agreement with this idea; and she had still enough 
remaining with her, of a once splendid wardrobe, and sets 
of jewels, to enable her to personate the thing to advan- 
tage. 

She stopped in the outskirts of the town, where she had 
noticed trunks for sale, and purchased a handsome one. 
This she requested the man to send along with her. And, 
accordingly, thus escorted by a boy wheeling her trunk, 
and Emmeline behind her, carrying her carpet-bag and 
sundry bundles, she made her appearance at the small 
tavern, like a lady of consideration. 

The first person that struck her, after her arrival, was 
George Shelby, who was staying there,, awaiting the next 
boat. 

29 


i50 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


Gassy had remarked the young man from her loop-hole 
in the garret, and seen him bear away the body of Tom, 
and observed, with secret exultation, his rencontre with 
Legree. Subsequently, she had gathered, from the conver- 
sations she had overheard among the negroes, as she glided 
about in her ghostly disguise, after nightfall, who he was, 
and in what relation he stood to Tom. She, therefore, felt 
an immediate accession of confidence, when she found that 
he was, like herself, awaiting the next boat. 

Cassy^s air and manner, address, and evident command 
of money, prevented any rising disposition to suspicion in 
the hotel. People never inquire too closely into those who 
are fair on the main point, of paying well, — a thing which 
Gassy had foreseen when she provided herself with 
money. 

In the edge of the evening, a boat was heard coming 
along, and George Shelby handed Gassy aboard, with the 
politeness which comes naturally to every Kentuckian, and 
exerted himself to provide her with a good stateroom. 

Gassy kept her room and bed, on pretext of illness, dur- 
ing the whole time they were on Red River ; and was waited 
on, with obsequious devotion, by her attendant. 

When they arrived at the Mississippi River, George, hav- 
ing learned that the course of the strange lady was upward, 
like his own, proposed to take a stateroom for her on the 
same boat with himself, — good-naturedly compassionating 
her feeble health, and desirous to do what he could to assist 
her. 

Behold, therefore, the whole party safely transferred to 
the good steamer Gincinnati, and sweeping up the river 
under a powerful head of steam. 

Gassy^s health was much better. She sat upon the guards, 
came to the table, and was remarked upon in the boat as a 
lady that must have been very handsome. 

From the moment that George got the first glimpse of 
her face, he was troubled with one of those fieeting and 
indefinite likenesses, which almost everybody can remem- 
ber, and has been, at times perplexed with. He could not 
keep himself from looking at her, and watching her per- 
petually. At table, or sitting at her stateroom door, still 
she would encounter the young man^s eyes fixed on her, and 
politely withdrawn, when she showed, by her countenance, 
that she was sensible of the observation. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


451 


Gassy became uneasy. She began to think that he sus- 
pected something ; and finally resolved to throw herself 
entirely on his generosity, and intrusted him with her 
whole history. 

George was heartily disposed to sympathize with any 
one who had escaped from Legree^s plantation, — a place 
that he could not remember or speak of with patience, — 
and, with the courageous disregard of consequences which 
is characteristic of his age and state, he assured her that 
he would do all in his power to protect and bring them 
through. 

The next stateroom to Cassy^s was occupied by a French 
lady, named De Thoux, who was accompanied by a fine 
little daughter, a child of some twelve summers. 

This lady, having gathered, from George^s conversation, 
that ho was from Kentucky, seemed evidently disposed 
to cultivate his acquaintance ; in which design she was 
seconded by the graces of her little girl, who was about as 
pretty a plaything as ever diverted the weariness of a fort- 
night's trip on a steamboat. 

George^s chair was often placed at her stateroom door ; 
and Gassy, as she sat upon the guards, could hear their 
conversation. 

Madame de Thoux was very minute in her inquiries as 
to Kentucky, where she said she had resided in a former 
period of her life. George discovered, to his surprise, 
that her former residence must have been in his own vicin- 
ity ; and her inquiries showed a knowledge of people and 
things in his region, that was perfectly surprising to him. 

Do you know,^^ said Madame de Thoux to him, one 
day, of any man, in your neighborhood, of the name of 
Harris 

There is an old fellow, of that name, lives not far from 
my father^s place, said George. We never have had 
much intercourse with him, though. 

He is a large slave-owner, I belie ve,^^ said Madame de 
Thoux, with a manner which seemed to betray more in- 
terest than she was exactly willing to show. 

He is,^^ said George, looking rather surprised at her 
manner. 

Did you ever know of his having — perhaps, you may 
have heard of his having — a mulatto boy, named George ? 

‘^0, certainly, — George Harris, — I know him well ; he 


452 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; ORy 

married a servant of my mother’s, but has escaped, now 
to Canada.” 

He has ? ” said Madame de Thoux, quickly. Thank 
God!” 

George looked a suprised inquiry, but said nothing. 

Madame de Thoux leaned her head on her hand, and 
burst into tears. 

He is my brother,” she said. 

Madame I ” said George, with a strong accent of 
surprise. 

Yes,” said Madame de Thoux, lifting her head, proudly, 
and wiping her tears ; ^‘Mr. Shelby, George Harris is my 
brother I ” 

I am perfectly astonished,” said George, pushing back 
his chair a pace or two, and looking at Madame de Thoux. 

I was sold to the South when he was a boy,” said she. 

I was bought by a good and generous man. He took 
me with him to the West Indies, set me free, and married 
me. It is but lately that he died ; and I was coming up to 
Kentucky, to see if I e^uld find and redeem my brother.” 

I have heard him speak of a sister Emily, that was 
sold South,” said George. 

Yes, indeed ! I am the one,” said Madame de Thoux ; 
— tell me what sort of a 

A very fine young man,” said George, notwithstand- 
ing the curse of slavery that lay on him. He sustained a 
first-rate character, both for intelligence and princ^_j^ le. 
I know, you see,” he said ; because he married in our 
family.” 

What sort of a girl ? ” said Madame de Thoux, eagerly. 

A treasure,” said George ; a beautiful, intelligent, 
amiable girl. V ery pious. My mother had brought her 
up, and trained her as carefully, almost, as a daughter. 
She could read and write, embroider and sew, beautifully ; 
and was a beautiful singer.” 

Was she born in your house ?” said Madame de Thoux. 

^^Ho. Father bought her once, in one of his trips to 
Kew Orleans, and brought her up as a present to mother. 
She was about eight or nine years old, then. Father would 
never tell mother what he gave for her : but, the other 
day, in looking over his old papers, we came across the 
bill of sale. He paid an extravagant sum for her, to be 
sure. I suppose, on account of her extraordinary beauty.” 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


453 


George sat witli his back to Gassy, and did not see the 
absorbed expression of her countenance, as he was giving 
these details. 

At this point in the story, she touched his arm, and 
with a face perfectly white with interest, said, Do you 
know the names of the people he bought her of ? 

A man of the name of Simmons, I think, was the 
principal in the transaction. At least, I think that was 
the name on the bill of sale.” 

0 my God ! ” said Gassy, and fell insensible on the 
floor of the cabin. 

George was wide awake now, and so was Madame de 
Thoux. Though neither of them could conjecture what 
was the cause of Gassy’s fainting, still they made all the 
tumult which is proper in such cases ; — George upsetting 
a wash-pitcher, and breaking two tumblers, in the warmth 
of his humanity ; and various ladies in the cabin, hearing 
that somebody had fainted, crowded the stateroom door, 
and kept out all the air they possibly could, so that, on the 
whole, everything was done that could be expected. 

Poor Gassy ! when she recovered, turned her face to the 
wall, and wept and sobbed like a child, — perhaps, mother 
you can tell what she was thinking of ! Perhaps you can- 
not, — ^but she felt as sure, in that hour, that God had had 
mercy on her, and that she should see her daughter, — as 
she did, months afterwards, — when — but we anticipate. 


CHAPTEli XLIIL 


RESULTS. 

The rest of our story is soon told. George Shelby, in- 
terested, a^ any other young man miglit be, by the romance 
of the incident, no less than by feelings of humanity, was 
at the pains to send to Gassy the bill of sale of Eliza ; 
whose date and name all corresponded v/ith her own knowl- 
edge of facts, and left no doubt upon her mJnd as to the 
identity of her child. It remained now only for her to 
trace out the path of the fugitives. 

Madame de Thoux and she, thus drawn together by the 


454 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


singular coincidence of their fortunes, proceeded immedi- 
ately to Canada, and began a tour of inquiry among the 
stations, where the numerous fugitives from slavery are 
located. At Amherstberg they found the missionary with 
whom George and Eliza had taken shelter, on their first 
arrival in Canada ; and through him were enabled to trace 
the family to Montreal. 

George and Eliza had now been five years free. George 
had found constant occupation in the shop of a worthy 
machinist, where he had been earning a competent support 
for his family, which, in the mean time, had been increased 
by the addition of another daughter. 

Little Harry — a fine bright boy — had been put to a good 
school, and was making rapid proficiency in knowledge. 

The worthy pastor of the station, in Amherstberg, where 
George had first landed, was so much interested in the 
statements of Madame de Thoux and Cassy, that he yielded 
to the solicitations of the former, to accompany them to 
Montreal, in their search, — she bearing all the expense of 
the expedition. 

The scene now changes to a small, neat tenement, in the 
outskirts of Montreal ; the time, evening. A cheerful fire 
blazes on the hearth ; a tea-table, covered with a snowy 
cloth, stands prepared for the evening meal. In one cor- 
ner of the room was a table covered with a green cloth, 
where was an open writing-desk, pens, paper, and over it a 
shelf of well-selected books. 

This was George’s study. The same zeal for self-improve- 
ment, which led him to steal the^ much coveted arts of 
reading and writing, amid all the toils and discouragements 
of his early life, still led him to devote all his leisure time 
to self-cultivation. 

At this present time, he is seated at the table, making 
notes from a volume of the family library he has been 
reading. 

Come, George,” says Eliza, you’ve been gone all day. 
Do put down that book, and let’s talk, while I’m getting 
tea, — do.” 

And little Eliza seconds the effort, by toddling up to her 
father, and trying to pull the book out of his hand, and 
install herself on his knee as a substitute. 

‘^0, you little witch ! ” says George, yielding, as, in such 
circumstances, man always must. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


455 


That^s right/’ says Eliza, as she begins to cut a loaf of 
bread. A little older she looks ; her form a little fuller ; 
her air more matronly than of yore ; but evidently con- 
tented and happy as woman need be. 

Harry, my boy, how did you come on in that sum, to- 
day ? ” says George, as he laid his hand on his son’s head. 

Harry has lost his long curls ; but he can never lose those 
eyes and eyelashes, and that fine, bold brow, that fiushes 
with triumph, as he answers, I did it, every bit of it, 
myself, father ; and nobody helped me !” 

That’s right,” says his father ; depend on yourself, 
my son. You have a better chance than ever your poor 
father had.” 

At this moment, there is a rap at the door ; and Eliza 
goes and opens it. The delighted — Why ! — this you ?” 
— calls up her husband ; and the good pastor of Amherst- 
berg is welcomed. There are two more women with him, 
and Eliza asks them to sit down. 

How, if the truth must be told, the honest pastor had 
arranged a little programme, according to which this affair 
was to develop itself ; and, on the way up, all had very 
cautiously and prudently exhorted each other not to let 
things out, except according to previous arrangement. 

What was the good man’s consternation, therefore, just 
as he had motioned to the ladies to be seated, and was tak- 
ing out his pocket-handkerchief to wipe his mouth, so as 
to proceed to his introductory speech in good order, when 
Madame de Thoux upset the whole plan, by throwing her 
arms around George’s neck, and letting all out at once, by 
saying, ^^0 George ! don’t you know me ? I’m your sister 
Emily.” 

Gassy had seated herself more composedly and would have 
carried on her part very well, had not little Eliza suddenly 
appeared before her in exact shape and form, every outline 
and curl, just as her daughter was when she saw her last. 
The little thing peered up in her face ; and Gassy caught 
her up in her arms, pressed her to her bosom, saying, what 
at the moment she really believed, Darling, I’m your 
mother ! ” 

In fact, it was a troublesome matter to do up exactly in 
proper order ; but the good pastor, at last, succeeded in 
getting everybody quiet, and delivering the speech with 
"<rhich he had intended to open the exercises ; and in which, 


456 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


at last, lie succeeded so well, that his whole audience were 
sobbing about him in a manner that ought to satisfy any 
orator, ancient or modern. 

They knelt together, and the good man prayed, — for 
there are some feelings so agitated and tumultuous, that 
they can find rest only by being poured into the bosom of 
Almighty love, — and then, rising up, the new-found family 
embraced each other, with a holy trust in Him, who from 
such peril and dangers, and. by such unknown ways, had 
brought them together. 

The note-book of a missionary, among the Canadian 
fugitives, contains truth stranger than fiction. How can 
it he otherwise, when a system prevails which whirls fami- 
lies and scatters their members, as the wind whirls and 
scatters the leaves of autumn ? These shores of refuge, 
like the eternal shore, often unite again, in glad communion, 
hearts that for long years have mourned each other as lost. 
And affecting beyond expression is the earnestness with 
which every new arrival among them is met, if, perchance, 
it may bring tidings of mother, sister, child, or wife, still 
lost to view in the shadows of slavery. 

Deeds of heroism are wrought here more than those of 
romance, when, defying torture, and braving death itself, 
the fugitive voluntarily threads his way back to the terrors 
and perils of that dark land, that he may bring out his 
sister, or mother, or wife. 

One young man, of whom a missionary has told us, twice 
re-captured, and suffering shameful stripes for his heroism, 
had escaped again ; and, in a letter which we heard read, 
tells his friends that he is going back a third time, that he 
may, at last, bring away his sister. My good sir, is this 
man a hero, or a criminal ? Would not you do as much 
for your sister ? And can you blame him ? 

But, to return to our friends, whom we left wiping their 
eyes, and recovering themselves from too great and sudden 
a joy. They are now seated around the social board, and 
are getting decidedly companionable ; only that Gassy, 
who keeps little Eliza on her lap, occasionally squeezes the 
little thing, in a manner that rather astonishes her, and 
obstinately refuses to have her mouth stuffed with cake to 
the extent the little one desires, — alleging, what the child 
rather wonders at, that she has got something better ihf*^ 
cake, and doesnT want it. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


40 ? 


And, indeed, in two or three days, such a change has 
passed over Gassy, that our readers would scarcely know her. 
The despairing, haggard expression of her face had given 
way to one of gentle trust. She seemed to sink, at 
once, into the bosom of the family, and take the little 
ones into her heart, as something for which it long had 
waited. Indeed, her love seemed to flow more naturally 
to the little Eliza than to her own daughter ; for she was 
the exact image and body of the child whom she had lost. 
The little one was a flowery bond between mother and 
daughter, through whom grew up acquaintanceship and 
affection. Eliza^s steady, consistent piety, regulated by 
the constant reading of the sacred word, made her a 
[proper guide for the shattered and wearied mind of her 
mother. Gassy yielded at once, and with her whole soul, 
to every good influence, and became a devout and tender 
Ghristian. 

After a day or two, Madame de Thoux told her brother 
more particularly of her affairs. The death of her hus- 
band had left her an ample fortune, which she generously 
offered to share with the family. When she asked George 
what way she could best apply it for him, he answered. 

Give me an education, Emily ; that has always been my 
hearths desire. Then, I can do all the rest."’"’ 

On mature deliberation, it was decided that the whole 
family should go, for some years, to France ; whither they 
sailed, carrying Emmeline with them. 

The good looks of the latter won the affection of the 
flrst mate of the vessel ; and, shortly after entering the 
port, she became his wdfe. 

George remained four years at a French university, and, 
applying himself with an unintermitted zeal, obtained a 
very thorough education. 

Political troubles in France, at last, led the family again 
to seek an asylum in this country. 

Georges’s feelings and views, as an educated man, may be 
best expressed in a letter to one of his friends. 

“1 feel somewhat at a loss, as to my future course. 
True, as you have said to me, I might mingle in the circles 
of the whites, in this country, my shade of color is so 
slight, and that of my wife and family scarce perceptible. 
Well, perhaps, on sufferance, I might. But, to tell you 
the truth, I have no wish to. 


458 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, 


My sympathies are not for my father’s race, hut for 
my mother’s. To him I was no more than a fine dog or 
horse : to my poor heart-broken mother I was a child ; 
and, though I never saw her, after the cruel sale that 
separated us, till she died, yet I know she always loved 
me dearly. I know it by my own heart. When I think 
of all she suffered, of my own early sufferings, of the dis- 
tresses and struggles of my heroic wife, of my sister, sold 
in the New Orleans slave-market, — though I hope to have 
no unchristian sentiments, yet I may he excused for say- 
ing, I have no wish to pass for an American, or to identify 
myself with them. 

^‘^It is with the oppressed, enslaved African race that I 
cast in my lot ; and, if I wished anything, I would wish 
myself two shades darker, rather than one lighter. 

The desire and yearning of my soul is for an African 
nationality. I want a people that shall have a tangible, 
separate existence of its own ; and where , am I to look for 
it ? Not in Hayti ; for in Hayti they had nothing to 
start with. A stream cannot rise above its fountain. The 
race that formed the character of the Haytiens was a worn- 
out, effeminate one ; and, of course, the subject race will 
be centuries in rising to anything. 

Where, then, shall I look ? On the shores olP' Africa I 
see a republic, — a republic formed of picked men, who, by 
energy and self-educating force, have, in many cases, in- 
dividually, raised themselves above a condition of slavery. 
Having gone through a preparatory stage of feebleness, 
this republic has, at last, become an acknowledged nation on 
the face of the earth, — acknowledged by both France and 
England. There it is my wish to go, and find myself a 
people. 

I am aware, now, that I shall have you all against 
me ; but, before you strike, hear me. During my stay in 
France, I have followed up, with intense interest, the his- 
tory of my people in America. I have noted the struggle 
between abolitionist and colonizationist, and have re- 
ceived some impressions, as a distant spectator, which could 
never have occurred to me as a participator. 

I grant that this Liberia may have subserved all sorts of 
purposes, by being played off, in the hands of our oppres- 
sors, against us. Doubtless the scheme may have been 
used, in unjustifiable ways, as a means of retarding oui 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


459 


emancipation. But the question to me is. Is there not a 
God above all many’s schemes ? May He not have overruled 
their designs, and founded for us a nation by them ? 

‘^In these days, a nation is bom in a day. A nation 
starts, now, with all the great problems of republican life 
and civilization wrought out to its hand ; — it has not to 
discover, but only to apply. Let us, then, all take hold 
together, with all our might, and see what we can do with 
this new enterprise, and the whole splendid continent of 
Africa opens before us and our children. Our nation shall 
roll the tide of civilization and Christianity along its 
shores, and plant there mighty republics, that, growing with 
the rapidity of tropical vegetation, shall be for ail coming 
ages. 

Do you say that I am deserting my enslaved brethren ? 
I think not. If I forget them one hour, one moment of 
my life, so may God forget me ! But, what can I do for 
them, here ? Can I break their chains ? Ho, not as an 
individual ; but, let me go and form part of a nation, 

' Which shall have a voice in the councils of nations, and 
then we can speak. A nation has a right to argue, re 
monstrate, implore, and present the cause of its race, — 
which an individual has not. 

If Europe ever becomes a grand council of free nations. 
— as I trust in God it will, — if, there, serfdom, and all un- 
just and oppressive social inequalities, are done away ; and 
if they, as France and England have done, acknowledge 
our position, — then, in the great congress of nations, we 
will make our appeal, and present the cause of our enslaved 
and suffering race ; audit cannot be that free, enlightened 
America will not then desire to wipe from her escutcheon 
that bar sinister which disgraces her among nations, and 
is as truly a curse to her as to the enslaved. 

But, you will tell me, our race have equal rights to 
mingle in the American republic as the Irishman, the 
German, the Swede. Granted, they have. We ought 
to be free to meet and mingle, — to rise by our individual 
worth, without any consideration of caste or color ; and 
they who deny us this right are false to their own pro- 
fessed principles of human equality. We ought, in par- 
ticular, to be allowed here. We have more than the rights 
of common men ; — we have the claim of an injured race 
for reparation. But, then, I do not want it ; I want a 


460 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


country, a nation, of my own. I think that the African 
race has peculiarities, yet to he unfolded in the light of 
civilization and Christianity, which, if not the same with 
those of the Anglo-Saxon, may prove to be, morally, of 
even a higher type. 

To the Anglo-Saxon race has been intrusted the des- 
tinies of the world, during its pioneer period of struggle 
and conflict. To that mission its stern, inflexible, ener- 
• getic elements, were well adapted ; but, as a Christian, I look 
for another era to arise. On its borders I trust we stand ; 
and the throes that now convulse the nations are, to my 
hope, but the birth-pangs of an hour of universal peace 
and brotherhood. 

I trust that the development of Africa is to be essen- 
tially a Christian one. If not a dominant and command- 
ing race, they are, at least, an affectionate, magnanimous, 
and forgiving one. Having been called in the furnace 
of injustice and oppression, they have need to bind closer 
to their hearts that sublime doctrine of love and forgive- 
ness, through which alone they are to conquer, which it 
is to be their mission to spread over the continent of 
Africa. 

‘^In myself, I confess, I am feeble for this, — full half 
the blood in my veins is the hot and hasty Saxon ; but I 
have an eloquent preacher of the Gospel ever by my side, 
in the person of my beautiful wife. When I wander, her 
gentler spirit ever restores me, and keeps before my eyes 
the Christian calling and mission of our race. As a Chris- 
tian patriot, as a teacher of Christianity, I go to my coun- 
try , — my chosen, my glorious Africa ! — and to her, in my 
heart, I sometimes apply those splendid words of prophecy : 
* Whereas thou hast been forsaken and hated, so that no 
man went through thee ; I will make thee an eternal 
excellence, a joy of many generations ! ^ 

‘^‘^You will call me an enthusiast : you will tell me that 
I have not well considered what I am undertaking. But 
I have considered, and counted the cost. I go to Liberia, 
not as to an Elysium of romance, but as to afield of work, 
I expect to work with both hands, — to work hard ; to 
work against all sorts of difficulties and discouragements ; 
and to work till I die. This is what I go for ; and in this 
I £ ite sure I shall not be disappointed. 



latever you may think of my determination, do not 


LIFE AMON(}/ THE LOWLY, 


4t)i 

divorce me from your confidence ; and think that, in 
whatever I do, I act with a heart wholly given to my 
people. 

George Harris. 

George, with his wife, children, sister and mother, em. 
barked for Africa, some few weeks after. If we are not 
mistaken, the world will yet hear from him there. 

Of our other characters we have nothing very particular 
to write, except a word relating to Miss Ophelia and Topsy, 
and a farewell chapter, which we shall dedicate to George 
Shelby. 

Miss Ophelia took Topsy home to Vermont with her, 
much to the surprise of that grave, deliberative body 
whom a New Englander recognizes under the term Out 
folks ” Our folks, at first, thought it an odd and un- 
necessary addition to their well-trained domestic establish- 
ment ; but, so thoroughly efficient was Miss Ophelia in 
her conscientious endeavor to do her duty by her eldve, 
that the child rapidly grew in grace and in favor with the 
family and neighborhood. At the age of womanhood, she 
was, by her own request, baptized, and became a member 
of the Christian church in the place ; and showed so much 
intelligence, activity, and zeal, and desire to do good in 
the world, that she was at last recommended, and ap- 
proved, as a missionary to one of the stations in Africa ; 
and we have heard that the same activity and ingenuity 
which, when a child, made her so multiform and restless 
in her developments, is now employed, in a safer and 
wholesomer manner, in teaching the children of her own 
country. 

P. S. — It will be a satisfaction to some mother, also, to 
state, that some inquiries, which were set on foot by 
Madame de Thoux, have resulted recently in the discovery 
of Cassy^’s son. Being a young man of energy, he had 
escaped, some years before his mother, and been received 
and educated by friends of the oppressed in the north. He 
will soon follow his family to Africa. 


462 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE LIBEEATOE. 

Geoege Shelby had written to his mother merely a 
line, stating the day that she might expect him home. Of 
the death-scene of his old friend he had not the heart to 
write. He had tried several times, and only succeeded 
in half choking himself ; and invariably finished by tear- 
ing up the paper, wiping his eyes, and rushing somewhere 
to get quiet. 

There was a pleased bustle all through the Shelby man- 
sion, that day, in expectation of the arrival of young MasT 
George. 

Mrs. Shelby was seated in her comfortable parlor, where 
a cheerful hickory fire was dispelling the chill of the late 
autumn evening. A supper-table, glittering with plate and 
cut glass, was set out, on whose arrangements our former 
friend, old Chloe, was presiding. 

Arrayed in a new calico dress, with clean, white apron, 
and high, well-staiched turban, her black polished face 
glowing with satisfaction, she lingered, with needless punc- 
tiliousness, around the arrangements of the table, merely 
as an excuse for talking a little to her mistress. 

Laws, now ! wonT it look natural to him she said. 

Thar, — I set his plate just whar he likes it, — round by 
the fire. MasT George allers wants de warm seat. 0, go 
way ! — why didnT Sally get out de test teapot, — de little 
new one, MasT George got for Missis, Christmas ? ITl 
have it out ! And Missis has heard from Mas’r George ? ** 
she said, inquiringly. 

^^Yes, Chloe; but only a line, lust to say he would be 
home to-night, if he could, — that”s all.^^ 

DidnT say nothin’ ^bout my old man, s’pose ?” said 
Chloe, still fidgeting with the tea-cups. 

^^Ho, he didn’t. He did not speak of anything, Chloe. 
He said he would tell all, when he got home.” 

^^Jes like Mas’r George, — he’s allers so ferce for tellin’ 
everything hisself. I allers minded dat ar in Mas’r George. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


463 


Don^t see, for my part, how white people gen'lly can bar 
to hev to write things much as they do, writin^ ^s such slow, 
oneasy kind o^ work." 

Mrs. Shelby smiled. 

"^Tm a thinkin^ my old man won't know de boys andde 
baby. Lor' I she's de biggest gal, now, — good she is, too, 
and peart, Polly is. She's out to the house, now, watchin' 
de hoe-cake. I's got jist de very pattern my old man liked 
so much, a-bakin.' Jist sich as I gin him the mornin' he 
was took oif. Lord bless ms ! how If felt, dat ar morning ! '' 

Mrs. Shelby sighed, and felt a heavy weight on her heart, 
at this allusion. She had felt uneasy, ever since she re- 
ceived her son's letter, lest something should prove to be 
hidden behind the veil of silence which he had drawn. 

Missis has got dem bills ? '' said Chloe, anxiously. 

^^Yes, Chloe.'' 

Cause I wants to show my old man dem very bills de 
'perfectioner gave me. ^ And,' says he, ^ Chloe, I wish you'd 
stay longer.' ^ Thank you, Mas'r,' says I, ^ I would, only 
my old man's coming home, and Missis, — she can't do with- 
out me no longer.' There's jist what I telled him. Berry 
nice man, dat Mas'r Jones was.'' 

Chloe had pertinaciously insisted that the very bills in 
which her wages had been paid should be preserved, to 
show to her husband, in memorial of her capability. And 
Mrs. Shelby had readily consented to humor her in the 
request. 

He won't know Polly, — my old man won't. Laws, it's 
five years since they tuck him ! She was a baby den, — 
couldn't but jist stand. Eemember how tickled he used 
to be, cause she would keep a failin' over, when she sot out 
to walk. Laws a me ! '' 

The rattling of wheels now was heard. 

Mas'r George! '' said Aunt Chloe, starting to the window. 

Mrs. Shelby ran to the entry door, and was folded in the 
arms of her son. Aunt Chloe stood anxiously straining her 
eyes out into the darkness. 

^ ^ 0, poor Aunt Chloe ! " said George, stopping compas- 
sionately, and taking her hard, black hand between both 
his ; I'd have given all my fortune to have brought him 
with me, but he's gone to a better country." 

There was a passionate exclamation from Mrs. Shelby, 
but Aunt Chloe said nothing. 


464 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


The party entered the supper-room. The money, of 
which Ohloe was so proud, was still lying on the table. 

“ Thar,'^ said she, gathering it up, and holding it, with 
a trembling hand, to her mistress, donT never want to 
see nor hear onT again. Jist as I knew Twould be, — sold, 
and murdered on dem ar^ old plantations I 

Ohloe turned, and was walking proudly out of the room. 
Mrs. Shelby followed her softly, and took one of her 
hands, drew her down into a chair, and sat down by her. 

My poor, good Ohloe ! said she. 

Ohloe leaned her head on her mistress’ shoulder, and 
sobbed out, 0 Missis ! ’scuse me, my heart’s broke, — 
dat’s all!” 

I know it is,” said Mrs. Shelby, as her tears fell fast ; 
^^and I cannot heal it, but Jesus can. He healeth the 
broken-hearted, and hindefch up their wounds.” 

There was a silence for some time, and all wept together. 
At last, George, sitting down beside the mourner, took 
her hand, and, with simple pathos, repeated the triumphant 
scene of her husband’s death, and his last messages of love. 

About a month after this, one morning, all the servants 
of the Shelby estate were convened together in the great 
hall that ran through the house, to hear a few words from 
their young master. 

To the surprise of all, he appeared among them with a 
bundle of papers in his hand, containing a certificate of 
freedom to every one on the place, which he read suc- 
cessively, and presented, amid the sobs and tears and shouts 
of all present. 

Many, however pressed around him, earnestly begging 
him not to send them away ; and, with anxious faces, tender- 
ing back their free papers. 

We don’t want to be no freer than we are. We’s allers 
had all we wanted. We don’t want to leave de ole place, 
and Mas’r and Missis, and de rest ! ” 

My good friends,” said George, as soon as he could get 
a silence, there’ll be no need for you to leave me. The 
place wants as many hands to work it as it did before. We 
need the same about the house that we did before. But 
you are now free men and free women. I shall pay you wages 
for your work, such as we shall agree on. The advantage 
is, that in case of my getting in debt, or dying, — things 
that might happen, — ^you cannot now be taken up and sold. 


iJFJSr AMONG THE LOWLY, 


465 


I expect to carry on the estate, and to teach you what, 
perhaps, it will take you some time to learn, — how to use 
the rights I give you as free men and women. I expect you 
to he good, and willing to learn ; and I trust in Grod that 
I shall be faithful, and willing to teach. And now, my 
friends, look up, and thank Grod for the blessing of free- 
dom. 

An aged, patriarchal negro, who had grown gray and 
blind on the estate, now rose, and, lifting his trembling 
hand, said, Let us give thanks unto the Lord ! ” As all 
kneeled by one consent, a more touching and hearty Te 
Deum never ascended to heaven, though borne on the peal 
of organ, bell and cannon, than came from that honest old 
heart. 

On rising, another struck up a Methodist hymn, of which 
the burden was, 

“ The year of Jubilee is come, — 

Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.” 

One thing more,^^ said Gl-eorge, as he stopped the con- 
gratulations of the throng; ^^you all remember our good 
old Uncle Tom?" 

Greorge here gave a short narration of the scene of his 
death, and of his loving farewell to all on the place, and 
added. 

It was on his grave, my friends, that I resolved, before 
Grod, that I would never own another slave, while it was 
possible to free him ; that nobody, through me, should 
ever run the risk of being parted from home and friends, 
and dying on a lonely plantation, as he died. So, when 
you rejoice in your freedom, think that you owe it to that 
good old soul, and pay it back in kindness to his wife and 
children. Think of your freedom, every time you see Ui^- 
CLE Tom^s Oabin ; and let it be a memorial to put you all 
in mind to follow in his steps, and be as honest and faithful 
and Christian as he was." 

COKCLUDIN-Q REMAEKS. 

The writer has often been inquired of by correspondents 
from different parts of the country, whether this narrative 
is a true one ; and to these inquiries she will give one 
general answer. 

30 


466 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


The separate incidents that compose the narrative are, 
to a very great extent, authentic, occurring, many of them, 
either under her own observation, or that of her personal 
friends. She or her friends have observed characters the 
counterpart of almost all that are here introduced ; and 
many of the sayings are word for word as heard herself, or 
reported to her. 

The personal appearance of Eliza, the character ascribed 
to her, are sketches drawn from life. The incorruptible 
fidelity, piety, and honesty, of IJncle Tom, had more than 
one development, to her personal knowledge. Some of the 
most deeply tragic and romantic, some of the most terrible 
incidents, have also their parallel in reality. The incident 
of the mother^s crossing the Ohio Eiver on the ice is a well- 
known fact. The story of old Prue,"’^ in the second 
volume, was an incident that fell under the personal ob- 
servation of a brother of the writer, then collecting-clerk 
to a large mercantile house, in New Orleans. From the 
same source was derived the character of the planter Le- 
gree. Of him her brother thus wrote, speaking of visiting 
his plantation, on a collecting tour : “He actually made 
me feel of his fist, which was like a blacksmith^s hammer, 
or a nodule of iron, telling me that it was ^ calloused with 
knocking down niggers."’ When I left the plantation, I 
drew a long breath, and felt as if I had escaped from an 
ogre’s den."” 

That the tragical fate of Tom, also, has too many times 
had its parallel, there are living witnesses, all over our 
land, to testify. Let it be remembered that in all southern 
states it is a principle of jurisprudence that no person of 
colored lineage can testify in a suit against a white, and it 
will be easy to see that such a case may occur, wherever 
there is a man whose passions outweigh his interests, and 
a slave who has manhood or principle enough to resist his 
will. There is, actually, nothing to protect the slave’s life, 
hut the character of the master. Facts too shocking to he 
contemplated occasionally force their way to the public 
ear, and the comment that one often hears made on them 
is more shocking than the thing itself. It is said, “Very 
likely such cases may now and then occur, but they are no 
sample of general practice.” If the laws of New England 
were so arranged that a master could note and then torture 
an apprentice to death, without a possibility of being 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 


467 


brought to justice, would it be received with equal com- 
posure ? Would it be said, These cases are rare, and no 
samples of general practice ? This injustice is an in- 
herent one in the slave system, — it cannot exist without it. 

The public and shameless sale of beautiful mulatto and 
quadroon girls has acquired a notoriety, from the incidents 
following the capture of the Pearl. We extract the follow- 
ing from the speech of Hon. Horace Mann, one of the legal 
counsel for the defendants in that case. He says : ^Hn 
that company of seventy-six persons, who attempted, in 
1848, to escape from the District of Columbia in the 
schooner Pearl, and whose officers I assisted in defending, 
there were several young and healthy girls, who had those 
peculiar attractions of form and feature which connoisseurs 
prize so highly. Elizabeth Kussel was one of them. She 
immediately fell into the slave-tradePs fangs, and was 
doomed for the Hew Orleans market. The hearts of those 
that saw her were touched with pity for her fate. They 
offered eighteen hundred dollars to redeem her ; and some 
there were who offered to give, that would not have much 
left after the gift ; but the fiend of a slave-trader was in- 
exorable. She was despatched to Hew Orleans ; but, when 
about half way there, God had mercy on her, and smote 
her with death. There were two girls named Edmundson 
in the same company. When about to be sent to the same 
market, an older sister went to the shambles, to plead with 
the wretch who owned them, for the love of God, to spare 
his victims. He bantered her, telling what fine dresses and 
fine furniture they would have. ^ Yes,'’ she said, ^ that may 
do very well in this life, but v/hat will become of them in 
the next V They too were sent to Hew Orleans ; but were 
afterwards redeemed, at an enormous ransom, and brought 
hack.^^ Is it not plain, from this, that the histories of 
Emmeline and Gassy may have many counterparts ? 

Justice, too, obliges the author to state that the fairness 
of mind and generosity attributed to St. Clare are not 
without a parallel, as the following anecdote will show. 
A few years since, a young southern gentleman was in 
Cincinnati, with a favorite servant, who had been his per- 
sonal attendant from a boy. The young man took advan- 
tage of this opportunity to secure his own freedom, and 
fied to the protection of a Quaker, who was quite noted in 
affairs of this kind. The owner was exceedingly indignant. 


468 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


He had always treated the slave -with such indulgence, and 
his confidence in his alfection was such, that he believed 
he must have been practised upon to induce him to revolt 
from him. He visited the Quaker, in high anger ; but^ 
being possessed of uncommon candor and fairness, was 
soon quieted by his arguments and representations. It 
was a side of the subject which he never had heard, — never 
had thought on ; and he immediately told the Quaker that, 
if his slave would, to his own face, say that it was his desire 
to be free, he would liberate him. An interview was forth- 
with procured, and Nathan was asked by his young master 
whether he had ever had any reason to complain of his 
treatment, in any respect. 

‘^^No, Mash-, said Nathan; ^^youNe always been good 
to me.'’^ 

Well, then, why do you want to leave me 
Mash may die, and then who get me ? — Fd rather be 
a free man.^^ 

After some deliberation, the young master replied, '^Na- 
than, in your place, I think I should feel very much so, 
myself. You are free.'’^ 

He immediately made him out free papers, deposited a 
sum of money in the hands of the Quaker, to be judiciously 
used in assisting him to start in life, and left a very sensible 
and kind letter of advice to the young man. That letter 
was for some time in the writer’s hands. 

The author hopes she has done justice to that nobility, 
generosity, and humanity, which in many cases characterize 
individuals at the South. Such instances save us from 
utter despair of our kind. But, she asks any person, who 
knows the world, are such characters common, anywhere ? 

For many years of her life, the author avoided all read- 
ing upon or allusion to the subject of slavery, considering 
it as too painful to be inquired into, and one which advanc- 
ing light and civilization would certainly live down. But, 
since the legislative act of 1850, when she heard, with per- 
fect surprise and consternation, Christian and humane 
people actually recommending the remanding escaped 
fugitives into slavery, as a duty binding on good citizens, 
— when she heard, on all hands, from kind, compassionate, 
and estimable people, in the free states of the North, delib- 
erations and discussions as to what Christian duty could 
be on this head, — she could only think. These men and 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


469 


Christians cannot know what slavery is ; if they did, such 
a (question could never he open for discussion. And from 
this arose a desire to exhibit it in a living dramatic reality. 
She has endeavored to show it fairly, in its best and its 
worst phases. In its best aspect, she has, perhaps, been 
successful ; hut, oh ! who shall say what yet remains un- 
told in that valley and shadow of death, that lies the other 
side ? 

To you, generous, noble-minded men and women, of the 
South, — you, whose virtue, and magnanimity, and purity 
of character are the greater for the severer trial it has en- 
countered, — to you is her appeal. Have you not, in your 
own secret souls, in your own private conversings, felt that 
there are woes and evils, in this accursed system, far be- 
yond what are here shadowed, or can be shadowed ? Can 
it be otherwise ? Is man ever a creature to be trusted with 
wholly irresponsible power ? And does not the slave 
system, by denying the slave all legal right of testimony, 
make every individual owner an irresponsible despot ? 
Cfcin anybody fail to make the inference what the practical 
result will be ? If there is, as we admit, a public senti- 
ment among you, men of honor, justice, and humanity, is 
there not also another kind of public sentiment among the 
ruffian, the brutal, and debased ? And cannot the ruffian, 
the brutal, the debased, by slave law, own just as many 
slaves as the best and purest ? Are the honorable, the 
just, the high-minded, and compassionate, the majority 
anywkere in this world ? 

The slave-trade is now, by American law, considered as 
piracy. But a slave-trade, as systematic as ever was 
carried on on the coast of Africa, is an inevitable attendant 
and result of American slavery. And its heart-break and 
its horrors, can they be told ? 

The writer has given only a faint shadow, a dim picture, 
of the anguish and despair that are, at this very moment, 
riving thousands of hearts, shattering thousands of fami- 
lies, and driving a helpless and sensitive race to frenzy and 
despair. There are those living who know the mothers 
whom this accursed traffic has driven to the murder of 
their children ; and themselves seeking in death a shelter 
from woes more dreaded than death. Nothing of tragedy 
can be written, can be spoken, can he conceived, that 
equals the frightful reality of scenes daily and hourly 


470 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


acting on onr shores, beneath the shadow of American law^ 
and the shadow of the cross of Christ. 

And now, men and women of America, is this a thing to 
be trifled with, apologized for, and passed over in silence ? 
Farmers of Massachusetts, of New Hampshire, of Vermont, 
of Connecticut, who read this book by the blaze of your 
winter-evening Are, — strong-hearted, generous sailors and 
ship-owners of Maine, — is this a thing for you to counte- 
nance and encourage ? Brave and generous men of New 
York, farmers of rich and joyous Ohio, and ye of the wide 
prairie states, — answer, is this a thing for you to protect 
and countenance ? And you, mothers of America, — ^you, 
who have learned, by the cradles of your own children, to 
love and feel for all mankind, — by the sacred love you bear 
your child ; by your joy in his beautiful, spotless infancy ; 
by the motherly pity and tenderness with which you guide 
his growing years ; by the anxieties of his education ; by 
the prayers you breathe for his souFs eternal good ; — I 
beseech you, pity the mother who has all your affections, 
and not one legal right to protect, guide, or educate, the 
child of her bosom ! By the sick hour of your child ; by 
those dying eyes, which you can never forget ; by those 
last cries, that wrung your heart when you could neither 
help nor save ; by the desolation of that empty cradle, that 
silent nursery , — I beseech you, pity those mothers that are 
constantly made childless by the American slave-trade I 
And say, mothers of America, is this a thing to be defended, 
sympathized with, passed over in silence ? 

Do you say that the people of the free states have nothing 
to do with it, and can do nothing ? Would to God this 
were true ! But it is not true. The people of the free 
states have defended, encouraged, and participated ; and 
are more guilty for it, before God, than the South, in 
that they have not the apology of education or custom. 

If the mothers of the free states had all felt as they 
should, in times past, the sons of the free states would not 
have been the holders, and, proverbially, the hardest 
masters of slaves ; the sons of the free states would not 
have connived at the extension of slavery, in our national 
body ; the sons of the free states would not, as they do, 
trade the souls and bodies of men as an equivalent to 
money, in their mercantile dealings. There are multitudes 
of slaves temporarily owned, and sold again, by merchants 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 471 

in northern cities ; and shall the whole guilt or obloquy of 
slavery fall only on the South ? 

Northern men, northern mothers, northern Christians, 
have something more to do than denounce their brethren 
at the South ; they have to look to the evil among them- 
selves. 

But, what can any individual do ? Of that, every in- 
dividual can judge. There is one thing that every indi- 
vidual can do, — they can see to it that they feel right. An 
atmosphere of sympathetic influence encircles every human 
being ; and the man or woman feels strongly, healthily, 
and justly, on the great interests of humanity, is a constaiit 
benefactor to the human race. See, then, to your sym- 
pathies in this matter I Are they in harmony with the 
sympathies of Christ ? or are they swayed and perverted 
by the sophistries of worldly policy ? 

Christian men and women of the North ! still further, — 
you have another power ; you can pray ! Do you believe 
in prayer ? or has it become an indistinct apostolic tradi- 
tion ? You pray for the heathen abroad ; pray also for 
the heathen at home. And pray for those distressed Chris- 
tians whose whole chance of religious improvement is an 
accident of trade and sale ; from whom any adherence to 
the morals of Christianity is, in many cases, an impossi- 
bility, unless they have given them, from above, the cour- 
age and grace of martyrdom. 

But, still more. On the shores of our free states are 
emerging the poor, shattered, broken remnants of families, 
— men and women, escaped by miraculous providences, 
from the surges of slavery, — feeble in knowledge, and, in 
many cases, infirm, in moral constitution, from a system 
which confounds and confuses every principle of Chris- 
tianity and morality. They come to seek a refuge among 
you ; they come to seek education, knowledge, Chris- 
tianity. 

What do you owe to these poor unfortunates, oh Chris- 
tians ? Does not every American Christian owe to the 
African race some effort at reparation for the wrongs that 
the American nation has brought upon them ? Shall the 
doors of churches and school-houses be shut upon them ? 
Shall states arise and shake them out ? Shall the church of 
Christ hear in silence the taunt that is thrown at them, 
and shrink away from the helpless hand that they stretch 


472 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB, 


out ; and, by her silence, encourage the cruelty that would 
chase them from our borders ? If it must be so, it will be 
a mournful spectacle. If it must be so, the country will 
have reason to tremble, when it remembers that the fate of 
nations is in the hands of One who is very pitiful, and of 
tender compassion. 

Do you say, We don^t want them here ; let them go to 
Africa ? " 

That the providence of God has provided a refuge in 
Africa, is, indeed, a great and noticeable fact ; but that is 
no reason why the church of Christ should throw off that 
res])onsibilitv to this outcast race which her profession 
demands of her. 

To fill up Liberia with an ignorant, inexperienced, half- 
barbarized race, just escaped from the chains of slavery, 
would be only to prolong, for ages, the period of struggle 
and conflict which attends the inception of new enterprises. 
Let the church of the north receive these poor sufferers in 
the spirit of Christ ; receive them to the educating advan- 
tages of Christian republican society and schools, until 
they have attained to somewhat of a moral and intellectual 
maturity, and then assist them in their passage to those 
shores, where they may put in practice the lessons they 
have learned in America. 

There is a body of men at the north, comparatively 
small, who have been doing this ; and, as the result, this 
country has already seen examples of men, formerly slaves, 
who have rapidly acquired property, reputation, and educa- 
tion. Talent has been developed, which, considering the 
circumstances, is certainly remarkable ; and, for moral 
traits of honesty, kindness, tenderness of feeling, — for 
heroic efforts and self-denials, endured for the ransom of 
brethren and friends yet in slavery, — they have been re- 
markable to a degree that, considering the influence under 
which they were born, is surprising. 

The writer has lived, for many years, on the frontier- 
line of slave states, and has had great opportunities of ob- 
servation among those who formerly were slaves. They 
have been in her family as servants ; and, in default of any 
other school to receive them, she has, in many cases, had 
them instructed in a family school, with her own children. 
She has also the testimony of missionaries, among the fugi- 
tives in Canada, in coincidence with her own experience ; 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


473 


imd her deductions, with regard to the capabilities of the 
?ace, are encouraging in the highest degree. 

The first desire of the emancipated slave, generally, is 
for education. There is nothing that they are not willing 
to give or do to have their children instructed ; and, so far 
as the writer has observed herself, or taken the testimony 
of teachers among them, they are remarkably intelligent 
and quick to learn. The results of schools, founded for 
them by benevolent individuals in Cincinnati, fully estab- 
lish this. 

The author gives the following statement of facts, on 
the authority of Professor C. E. Stowe, then of Lane 
Seminary, Ohio, with regard to emancipated slaves, now 
resident in Cincinnati ; given to show the capability of the 
race, even without any very particular assistance or en- 
couragement. 

The initial letters alone are given. They are all resi- 
dents of Cincinnati. 

“ B . Furniture maker ; twenty years in the city ; 

worth ten thousand dollars, all his own earnings ; a Bap- 
tist. 

C . Full black ; stolen from Africa ; sold in New 

Orleans ; been free fifteen years ; paid for himself six hun- 
dred dollars ; a farmer ; owns several farms in Indiana ; 
Presbyterian ; probably worth fifteen or twenty thousand 
dollars, all earned by himself. 

K . Full black ; dealer in real estate ; worth 

thirty thousand dollars; about fV ' " ^ ' 



years ; paid eighteen hundred 


member of the Baptist church ; received a legacy from 
his master, which he has taken good care of, and in- 
creased. 

G . Full black ; coal dealer ; about thirty years 

old ; worth eighteen thousand dollars ; paid for himself 
twice, being once defrauded to the amount of sixteen 
hundred dollars ; made all his money by his own efforts — 
much of it while a slave, hiring his time of his master, 
and doing business for himself ; a fine, gentlemanly fellow. 

if . Three-fourths black ; barber and waiter ; 

from Kentucky ; nineteen years free ; paid for self and 
family over three thousand dollars ; worth twenty thou- 
sand dollars, all his own earnings ; deacon in the Baptist 
church. 


474 


UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, 


G. B . Three-fourths black ; white- washer ; from 

Kentucky ; nine years free ; paid fifteen hundred dollars 
for self and family ; recently died, aged sixty ; worth six 
thousand dollars.” 

Professor Stowe says, With all these, except G , I 

have been, for some years, personally acquainted, and 
make my statements from my ov\^n knowledge.” 

The writer well remembers an aged colored woman, who 
was employed as a washerwoman in her father^s family. 
The daughter of this woman married a slave. She was a 
remarkably active and capable young woman, and, by her 
industry and thrift, and the most persevering self-denial, 
raised nine hundred dollars for her husband^s freedom, 
which she paid, as she raised it, into the hands of his 
master. She yet wanted a hundred dollars of the price, 
when he died. She never recovered any of the money. 

These are but few facts, among multitudes which might 
bu adduced, to show the self-denial, energy, patience, 
and honesty, which the slave has exhibited in a state of 
freedom. 

And let it be remembered that these individuals have 
thus bravely succeeded in conquering for themselves com- 
parative wealth and social position, in the face of every 
disadvantage and discouragement. The colored man, by 
the law of Ohio, cannot be a voter, and, till within a few 
years, was even denied the right of testimony in legal suits 
with the white. Nor are these instances confined to the 
State of Ohio. In all states of the Union we see men, but 
yesterday burst from the shackles of slavery, who, by a 
self-educating force, which cannot be too much admired, 
have risen to highly respectable stations in society. Pen- 
nington, among clergymen, Douglas and Ward, among 
editors, are well known instances. 

If this persecuted race, with every discouragement and 
disadvantage, have done thus much, how much more they 
might do, if the Christian church would act towards them 
in the spirit of her Lord ! 

This 18 an age of the world when nations are trembling 
and convulsed. A mighty influence is abroad, surging and 
heaving the world, as with an earthquake. And is Amer- 
ica safe ? Every nation that carries in its bosom great and 
unredressed injustice has in it the elements of this last con- 
vulsion. 


LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 


475 


For what is this mighty influence thus rousing in all na- 
tions and languages those groanings that cannot be uttered, 
for man's freedom and equality ? 

0, Church of Christ, read the signs of the times ! Is 
not this power the spirit of Him whose kingdom is yet to 
come, and whose will to be done on earth as it is in heaven ? 

But who may abide the day of His appearing ? for 
that day shall burn as an oven : and he shall appear as a 
swift witness against those that oppress the hireling in his 
wages, the widow and the fatherless, and that turn aside 
the stranger in his right : and he shall break in pieces the 
oppressor." 

Are not these dread words for a nation bearing in her 
bosom so mighty an injustice ? Christians ! every time 
that you pray that the kingdom of Christ may come, can 
you forget that prophecy associates, in dread fellowship, 
the day of vengeance with the year of His redeemed ? 

A day of grace is yet held out to us. Both North and 
South have been guilty before God ; and the Christian 
church has a heavy account to answer. Not by combining 
together, to protect injustice and cruelty, and making a 
common capital of sin, is this Union to be saved, — but by 
repentance, justice, and mercy ; for, not surer is the eternal 
law by which the millstone sinks in the ocean, than that 
stronger law, by which injustice and cruelty shall bring on 
nations the wrath of Almighty God I 


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